


Winter Roses and Desert Fires

by RoseThorn14



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Jon Snow, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Essos, F/F, F/M, Female Jon, Female Jon Snow, Jon Goes to Essos, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon has dragons, King Jon Snow, M/M, R Plus L Equals J, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:23:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseThorn14/pseuds/RoseThorn14
Summary: Lyarra Snow knew she needed to leave Winterfell.She would go to the Night's Watch, however, there is one problem; she is a girl. With little other options, Lyarra decides to travel to Essos to pursue a life as a healer for the Guardians of Trios.How will the world fare when the Bastard of Winterfell cannot take the Black?





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dragonstone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165489) by [Danivat (DannieU)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannieU/pseuds/Danivat). 
  * Inspired by [Bequeathed from Pale Estates](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789168) by [Author376](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author376/pseuds/Author376). 



> Trios, the God I have discussed, is an actual Essosi God from cannon. He has three heads and is said to have a temple in Tyrosh. 
> 
> Assume that any scenes I do not write about happen as cannon.
> 
> Prepare for an Odyssey-esque plotline in the later chapters.

Lyarra was awoken suddenly by a great weight jumping on her chest. 

She rolled sideways and jerked upwards, hearing a dull thud on the floor next to her as she opened her eyes. As soon as she gathered her wits enough to remember where she was, she glared down at the white, furry lump on the floor next to her. 

Her treacherous direwolf stared innocently up at her, silent as ever. Ghost jumped back up onto her bed and nuzzled her, before giving her face a gentle lick. Despite herself, Lyarra grinned at her pup and lifted a hand up to pat his head. She didn't need to him to make a noise to feel the affection radiating from him.

Lyarra sat in her bed for a few more moments, allowing herself to wake up. The sun was only just peaking over the horizon, so she still had some time before she needed to get dressed. She only got a few seconds of peace before Ghost butted his head against her shoulder. She turned her attention to him. 

"What?" she asked. 

His red eyes bored into her. It only took her half a second to realise why. When she did, she jerked to life, quickly scrambling out of bed with a curse. She'd forgotten that she'd agreed to meet Robb early for training today. They would have to cut their time short as it was, since the royal family was due to arrive sometime near midday according to the rider that had arrived yesterday.

She hastily pulled on one of her two pairs of pants and one of Robb's old shirts. She slipped on her shoes as she silently left her room and made her way through the castle, wrestling her thick, loosely curled hair into a braid as she went. 

"You're late, little sister," Robb teased as she stumbled into the small square courtyard, just off of Winterfell's main training yard. They generally used this area for practise rather than the main one so that they weren't disturbed by either Lady Catelyn or any other person who disapproved of a girl training with weapons instead of embroidering dressed. 

"You might not have enough time to warm up before Ser Roderick gets here," Robb continued, causing Lyarra to scowl at him as she immediately through herself into drills, practice sword in hand. 

Ser Roderick had found her and Robb play fighting when she was six and had ensured to take at least a few hours out of each week to train her since then, something he would never dare venture to do for either of the trueborn Stark girls for fear of incurring Lady Catelyn's wrath. As it was, Lady Stark did not care if he spent some of his free time 'humouring' Lyarra. 

It wasn't long until the Master at Arms arrived and put Robb and Lyarra through their paces. 

She was sweating as her sword clashed against her brother's. She lost more often than not, for Robb got many more hours of practice than she did, but she managed to win a few of their spars. Over the past year, she had been slowly gaining on Robb as she'd been ensuring to stay up late practicing. She knew she would need to be proficient in at least a few weapons when she left Winterfell. 

Lady Stark would not bear having her at Winterfell for much longer and Lyarra intended to appeal to her father to ask if she would be permitted leave to travel to Essos to pursue medical training sometime in the next few moons. There was an organisation called the Guardians of Trios. They were named for the three-headed Essosi God and were also known as the Three-Headed Guardians or as the Triquetra, for the symbol every member of the organisation yielded. The Guardians were famous for their healing abilities, and were often found healing soldiers on battlefields, or passing through towns, or even gaining free passage on ships and devoting their time to treating the crew.

For some time now, Maester Luwin had been allowing Lyarra to sit in whilst he healed people, and had even gone so far as to start teaching her more than the basic healing training all of Eddard Stark's children were forced to undertake. However, Lyarra would never be able to undergo formal training as any type of healer more advanced than a nurse as women were not permitted to be trained in the Citadel, the main school of medicine in Westeros. That was even if Lady Catelyn allowed her to stay long enough to become an accomplished healer. 

If she was successful at obtaining her father's approval, Lyarra would need to learn how to defend herself, as she would no longer have a castle of armed guards between her and anyone who wished to harm her. 

Robb and Lyarra's swords locked together. Their fight came to a standstill for a few seconds before Robb gave a small shove, causing Lyarra to stumble backwards. She only barely dodged his next slash and scrambled to block his next few attacks. She took a swift step back to give herself some more room. Lyarra had a moment of respite to loosen her shoulders from where they had tensed under Robb's blows. Her brother raised his sword above his head and took a step forward to deliver what would have been a devastating blow, but Lyarra darted forward, under his arms and slapped the flat of her sword against his ribs, causing him to grunt. However, her hit wasn't hard enough to completely stop him; he moved with the blow, dropping his arm down to elbow her roughly and send her sprawling on the ground. 

Lyarra quickly rolled onto her knees to get up but was stopped as she felt cool metal against the back of her neck. She froze. 

After a moment, she sighed.

"I yield."

Robb immediately pulled the sword away from her and crouched beside her, gripping her arm as he helped her to her feet.

"You're getting better," Robb observed, his voice tinged with a pride that ensured her he was not making fun of her.

Nevertheless, Lyarra scowled.

"Lord Robb is right," Ser Rodrick called out. 

Lyarra looked over to him to see that he was nodding in approval and her gloomy expression lightened somewhat. She gently shrugged out of Robb's grip and turned to clasp his arm forearm. 

"Well fought, brother," she complimented and felt him return her grip as he grinned at her. 

Ser Rodrick cleared his throat loudly. 

"You two best be running off now. You've got to be getting ready for the King's arrival. We do not want to incur Lady Stark's wrath."

Both Lyarra and Robb slumped their shoulders slightly and started slowly removing their pads. 

"Didn't our Lady order you to have a haircut with Greyjoy this morning?" Ser Rodrick asked. 

Suddenly, Robb was rushing to put his equipment away and running out of the training yard. Lyarra also quickened her movements, and was soon back in her chambers. 

The dress she chose to wear was cut in the simple northern style, with sleeves tight to her wrists and a skirt that only flared out just enough to allow her a full range of movement. Despite its basic design, the dress was made of a deep blue wool and with winter roses sewed around the modes, but not stifling collar in a lighter, richer thread she had managed to obtain from Sansa by trading a beautifully detailed wooden cup that Lyarra had carved herself. Sansa still used it at dinner occasionally when she was trying to show off. 

She brushed her hair so the loose ringlets smoothed into waves. She then braided small front sections of her hair and pinned them back in a neat circle at the back of her head, she left the rest out, cascading to her mid back. As she walked out the door, she slipped a belt of light blue cloth around her waist and a cloak of dark grey fur around her shoulders. With not much else to do, she locked Ghost away, apologising profusely and wandered around the castle, silently, ensuring to stay in the busy areas, so no one would have to call for her when the royal party arrived.

She ended up in one of the darker corners of Winterfell's main courtyard. She was leaning against the wall, her back straight. A few metres away, Theon Greyjoy was standing in a similar position, hair freshly cut and face cleanly shaven. 

"So Snow," he asked with a light sneer. "Are you ready for the royal family?"

Lyarra scowled. "Don't pretend like you won't hate it just as much as I will, Greyjoy."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theon crack a smile. Lyarra snorted. The Stark bastard's and the Greyjoy hostage's relationship thrived on extremes. One minute they were at each other's throats, the next they were allies in mocking Robb. If she had been a boy, Lyarra thought, they would have had a much more perilous relationship. As it was, they already occasionally butted heads when they vied for Robb's attention. If Lyarra had been born a boy, that competitiveness would have added a tension to their relationship that would have made their interactions much more aggressive. 

The two outcasts of the Stark household stood there, occasionally exchanging quips as they watched the servants of the Stark household rush around making last minute preparations.

It wasn't too long before Lyarra heard the sharp reprimands of Lady Stark as Bran scaled down the tower, practically buzzing with energy as he informed them of the royal party's arrival. 

Everyone assembled in their places, Lyarra standing near the back, two rows of people behind Theon and three rows behind the rest of her family. 

Her first impression of the King was unimpressive, to say the least. This was the Demon of the Trident? The man who swung a war hammer like a god on the battlefield? The man her father, the honourable Lord Stark, held in such high esteem?

She had trouble adjusting her mental image of the King with the man that was standing in front of her. He couldn't be the man her father told them stories about. This man barely looked like he could pick up a war hammer, let alone crush an armoured man's chest with it.

When they were finally given leave to go about their business and prepare for dinner, she was beginning to think that she was glad she was not permitted to be at the feast tonight. She slunk off towards her room, and quickly got changed into a dark grey dress, that hit just below her mid-calf and had a slightly wider skirt than customary to allow for larger manoeuvrability. She slipped on a pair of black breeches and disappeared into the library for a few hours, correctly assuming that no one else besides Maester Luwin would go there for the rest of the day.

Lyarra forced herself to comb through the tomes about Essos and its cultures. Reading and technical learning did not come naturally to her, but Lyarra new she needed to be prepared for whatever she might find in the future. 

She emerged from the library about two hours before the feast began and started making her way to her rooms. On her way there, she passed near the section of the castle that housed the trueborn Stark children. She wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings, instead thinking about a direwolf carving she wanted to make from a large cutting of wood Jory had given her, when someone rushed by her, almost knocking into her. 

She heard a shriek from where the person had come from. Sansa came out of the room. 

"Arya!" she yelled. 

Her expression cooled when her eyes found Lyarra instead of her trueborn sister.

"She refuses to get dressed," Sansa informed her, raising her chin slightly.

"Maybe she will listen to you, though I can't imagine why," even with all her training, Sansa could not restrain a slight sneer from infecting in her voice.

Lyarra did not bother becoming angry. She had stopped reacting outwardly to Sansa's insults long ago, ever since her mother's influence had caused her red-haired half-sister to scorn her. She only gave Sansa a respectful nod, before turning and hurrying after Arya. 

She found her sister outside just outside the dirwolve's pens, stroking Nymeria through the grate. Lyarra walked up and pulled a wooden step over so she could sit outside Ghost's cage. Arya's gaze stayed fixed on her direwolf. She waited.

It didn't take long for Arya to break. 

"It's not fair," she whined. 

Lyarra leant her head to the side. "What's not fair?"

"Why are you not allowed to attend the feast tonight, whilst I am forced to? We both know you would enjoy it more."

Lyarra smiled sadly at her sister as Arya turned her face towards her. She leant forward and brushed her fingers against her cheek. 

"Sometimes, that is just how life is, little sister. It does not always go the way we wish. Besides, there are things I am permitted to do that you do not."

Arya scrunched her nose, "Like fighting."

Lyarra nodded, smile widening. "Yes. Though, I do hope my instruction isn't completely useless."

Whenever they had time, Lyarra and Arya would find a deserted alcove of Winterfell or the Godswood to train in sword fighting. They would even practice archery occasionally.

"I can't even lift a practice sword," Arya scowled.

"Sticks can be affective."

Arya jerked her head away from Lyarra's touch. "Not in battle."

Lyarra frowned, and put her hands on her sister's shoulders, looking her in the eye.

"You are a lady of House Stark, are you not?"

Arya nodded. 

"That makes you a direwolf, in your blood, in your very bones. No one can contest that. Not with Nymeria by your side."

Arya nodded again, looking a little more proud. 

"But being a lady means you must do things you don't want to do. And of those things is attending feasts."

Her little sister frowned and Lyarra's voice became sterner.

"You will get dressed and not curse the servants as they do your hair. And then you will go to the feast. It is your duty. What is you Lady Mother's house words?"

Arya looked sullen as she answered. "Family. Duty. Honour."

Lyarra brushed Arya's hair back. "That's right. So you will make your family happy by listening to your mother. You will do your duty by attending the feast. And you will honour your house by acting with decorum."

Arya crossed her arms, but eventually nodded.

Lyarra smiled and patted her cheek. "Good. Now run along. Go, get ready."

Her little sister acquiesced, taking the words a little too literally, causing her to stumble. 

Lyarra stayed sitting as she reached a hand through the bars and patted Ghost's head, allowing her smile to slip.

\---

Benjen Stark arrived in Winterfell hours later, in the middle of the welcoming feast.  
   
Lyarra was viscously attacking a straw practice dummy, gritting her teeth as she swung her blunted sword at it. Unlike usual, none of the guards bothered her - no one wanting to risk her turning her anger on them. She stopped when her uncle swung down from his horse.  
   
“Uncle Benjen!” She exclaimed delightedly as she bound towards him.   
   
He wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug, lifting her slightly off her feet.  
   
“Lyarra! Oh, it’s good to see you, las.”  
   
He pulled back.  
   
“Training hard I see.”  
   
She grinned cheekily, “Always.”  
   
Benjen shook his head, chuckling. “If all our men were half as dedicated as you, the Night’s Watch wouldn’t have nearly as much trouble keeping the wildlings from attacking the North. I know you’ll excel wherever you go.”  
   
Lyarra grasped his hand in hers. “Then help me convince Father.”  
   
Benjen frowned. “Lya-,”  
   
Lyarra cut him off. “We both know he’ll listen to you if you tell him to let me go.”

Her uncle sighed. "You're still so young, little pup."

"Please, uncle," she pleaded. "Lady Stark will not bear me hear much longer, not with Sansa so close to her first moon's blood. And I do not want to marry the type of man that would agree to wedding a bastard. And the Guardians of Trios accept anyone who shows promise. Please. I would be a good healer, uncle."

Benjen brushes a hand through her hair, which was still in the same style as before. 

"I know you will, Lya."

He stared into her eyes for a few seconds, as if searching for something. Eventually, he sighed again and stepped away, shaking his head. 

"I'll see what I can do."

Lyarra grinned and threw her arms around her uncle once again. Benjen eventually had to go inside, but not before he admired Ghost, ruffling his fur and becoming one of the few people that her direwolf had ever instantly warmed up to.

Then, Lyarra was again left by herself. She went back to her training, though not attacking the dummy with the same aggression as before, instead focusing more on her technique.

Her concentration was broken when she heard a voice from behind her.

"Girl!"

She spun around, and hesitantly lowered her sword when she found Tyrion Lannister walking on a ledge above her. 

"Is that animal beside you a wolf?"

"A direwolf," Lyarra corrected. "His name is Ghost."

She paused, cocking her head to the side. "If I may ask, why are you here, my Lord?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I've drunk too much wine." Tyrion Lannister shook his head, chuckling. "And I learnt long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother."

His eyes strayed back to Ghost.

"May I get a closer look at Ghost there?"

Lyarra nodded. "Do you have a way to get down? Or should I find a ladder?"

"Bugger that," the Lannister scoffed and then jumped down, curling into a ball in the air and landing on his hands before springing back onto his legs.

Despite Ghost being startled by his actions, he sat still for Tyrion Lannister to pat him when Lyarra to pat him.

"He is incredibly well behaved," the lord observed. 

"If I were not here, he would rip your throat out," Lyarra told him. This wasn't entirely true, as Ghost probably wouldn't do that if he judged the Lannister to be trustworthy. 

Lannister chuckled. "Then I should stay close to you."

He took a step back from Ghost before turning his intelligent gaze to Lyarra. 

"You're the bastard of Winterfell, aren't you?" he asked. 

Lyarra pursed her lips, shifting backwards half a step.

Tyrion Lannister grimaced. "Ah. I offended you. I apologise. Being a dwarf has made my tongue loose. Generations as court jester's and fools have allowed me to say whatever is on my mind. But you are the bastard of Winterfell."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," she acquiesced, her lips tight. 

"You are very beautiful," the Lannister observed. 

Lyarra nodded, but drew into herself further. "Thank you, my lord."

Tyrion Lannister chuckled bitterly. "You don't need to worry about my advances. Even if my father wouldn't kill me for pursuing you, I am not one to proposition little girls."

Lyarra physically forced herself not to bristle at the statement, instead focusing on how grateful she was for the rest of his proclamation. 

"No, my comment was merely an observation. Even though he had only seen you once prior to today, King Robert has mentioned multiple times how much like your Aunt Lyanna you looked as babe - and everyone across the seven kingdoms has heard of her famed beauty."

Tyrion Lannister cocked his head to the side. "You have more of the North in your looks than anyone besides your youngest sister."

Lyarra tried not to let her pleasure show as she corrected him. "Half-siblings."

The Lannister pursed his lips. "Let me give you some advice, never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it and it will never be used to hurt you."

Lyarra was in no mood for his counsel. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

Lyarra's eyes furrowed. "You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister."

"Am I?" the dwarf replied sardonically. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me and he has never forgiven me for it."

"I don't even know who my mother was," Lyarra told him bitterly. 

"Some woman, no doubt. They almost always are." Tyrion Lannister turned to look her in the eye. "Remember this, girl. All dwarves may be bastards, but not all bastards may yet be dwarves."

With that, he turned and walked back into the hall. 

\---

Lyarra knocked on her father's solar a week later. 

"Come in," Lord Stark's voice rumbled from inside. 

When she entered, she was taken aback by the sight of King Robert, slightly rosy cheeked, sitting next to her father, who was looking frustrated. It took her a second to realise what was happening. Of course the King was here, there was a hunt due for the next day. They must have been discussing logistics. 

Lyarra kneeled, bowing her head. 

"Forgive me, my king, my lord. I shall come back at a later time."

"Nonsense, girl," the King's voice rumbled. "Rise."

When Lyarra looked up, she found King Robert staring at her with an unsettling glint in his eyes.

"What did you want to ask of your father?" the King questioned. 

Lyarra's eyes flickered to Lord Stark. He gave a nod.

"I-I wanted to ask for leave to travel to Tyrosh and join the Guardians of Trios."

Both men stared at her for what felt like hours.

Then, King Robert laughed. "You want to be a healer, girl?"

Lyarra nodded solemnly, eyes moving back to her father. 

Ned Stark mirrored his daughters actions. "Your uncle discussed it with me a few nights ago."

The way both men looked at her made Lyarra want to squirm. Her father, because of guilt and the King because of the predatory smirk on his face. 

"I have wanted to be a healer for a very long time," Lyarra murmured.

Her father inclined his head. Lyarra felt panic rise up in her. She was sure he would refuse. 

"I have been saving money for years, so I will be able to afford to buy a cabin on a boat. And I can sell some of my better carvings to obtain passage to White Harbour, if you cannot arrange it."

Silence descended on the room again, and again King Robert answered first. 

"Rubbish," he boomed. "I will buy this girl passage both on the boat and to the harbour, Ned, if you will not."

Lyarra's father shook his head. "That won't be necessary, your grace."

He looked into Lyarra's eyes.

"You are determined to see this through?"

Lyarra nodded decisively, "I am sure of it."

Her father smiled sadly. "Then I will make arrangements. It might be a few moons before they will be ready, but you will go."

Lyarra beamed. "Thank you father."

He nodded. "We will talk at a later time."

Taking the words for the dismissal they were, Lyarra curtseyed deeply to both the king and her father. 

"Your Grace, my lord. I bid you good day."

She left the room, barely able to restrain herself from running and shouting in joy. 

\---

The door shut behind Lyarra and Ned fought from curling in on himself. 

"By the Gods, Ned… She is Lyanna reborn," Robert's voice was quieter than Ned had heard it since he arrived in Winterfell.

Ned closed his eyes. "I know."

Voice still reverent, Robert continued. "She is just as beautiful."

"More so," Ned interrupted him and immediately winced. 

The response was automatic. For years, Ned had heard the whisperings around the North calling Lyarra the Rose of Winterfell, much to Cat's displeasure and Sansa's dismay. They said she was even more beautiful than her aunt - her features more striking and exotic, which most attributed to rumours that Ashara Dayne was her mother. If only they knew.

Robert's expression darkened for a moment before it cleared and he nodded in agreement.

"She is."

Ned rubbed his head. He hoped this was the right choice. That he was doing right by his sister's daughter. Her little Winter Rose. Essos was dangerous, but he would not be doing justice to Lyanna by stifling her daughter. It had been their father controlling their sister that had caused the war in the first place. No, if Lyanna's daughter wanted to become a healer (instead of a knight, thank the gods), then he will do everything in his power to make sure she would have her dream. 

\---

It was the day of the hunt and Lyarra had just emerged from the library, having had her fill of studying after being surrounded by books all morning. She was finding it hard to focus on the thick tomes she was reading. For the first time since the royal party arrived at Winterfell, Lyarra was allowed at the evening feast. She was sure it was simpler than the welcoming feast had been, but the hall was still busier than she'd seen it in a long time. Though she hadn't been allowed at the table with her family, and the King had not approached her, but she had still felt his eyes on her numerous times throughout the night and had been forced to excuse herself to get some fresh air.

She had been joined by Tyrion Lannister, who had enquired about a tome that he had seen her reading when he had supposedly entered the library, though she had no recollection of him doing so. The book had been about dragons, as the great beasts were just as much a part of Tyrosh' history as they were Westeros'. The two had stayed out there late into the night, discussing dragons and books and Essosi culture; Lyarra hadn't even had time to train since they talked so late.

As she wondered through the castle, Lyarra did not know what to do with herself. She could not play with Arya, as her youngest sister had been confined to her rooms for her behaviour during diner last night, where she had yet again thrown food at Sansa. She dared not train either, lest she offend some Southron's sensibility and caused word to get back to the queen, which would anger the king, as he hated to listen to his wife complain, which would anger father.

Eventually, Lyarra decided to attempt to find Bran, who usually followed Robb and Theon around, but would not be today, as both had joined the hunt with the King. After a few minutes of searching, she sighted Bran scaling one of Winterfell's abandoned watch towers with his unnamed direwolf watching him from below. She did not want to yell up to him and risk someone hearing and therefore getting her brother in trouble, or worse, surprising him and causing him to fall. So, Lyarra started climbing one of the trees that grew close to the walls of the tower so she could call out to him more quietly. 

She had been focusing on keeping her balance on the tree branch she was straddling, some metres above the ground, when something drew her attention upwards. Lyarra squinted through on of the branches, seeing Bran teetering on the edge of the window of the tower. She thought she could hear him speaking if she strained her ears. 

Suddenly, Bran was falling. 

Panic flooded her system as she scrambled forward. She wasn't going to make it in time. She made it to the edge of the branch and managed to extend her arm just in time to catch on of Bran's arms. His body jerked and his head cracked sickeningly against a branch. Lyarra pulled him into her body, cradling his head to her chest instinctively. She closed her eyes, relief flooding her system as her thundering heart started to slow. 

Then she heard a crack. Lyarra's head snapped back in time to see the branch she was leaning most of her weight on break. She was powerless to do anything as both Bran and her tumbled downwards, catching a few branches on the way and landing heavily on the ground. 

A few metres away, Bran's wolf howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trios, the God I have discussed, is an actual Essosi God from cannon. He has three heads and is said to have a temple in Tyrosh. 
> 
> Assume that any scenes I do not write about happen as cannon.
> 
> \----
> 
> How does this concept sound?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout.

Lyarra was dazed for only a second before her mind kicked into gear. 

Bran was still wrapped in her arms, but he wasn't moving. She lay him on the ground, resting his head, which was bleeding profusely, in her lap. His left arm was twisted at an awkward angle, as was his right leg.

"Help!" she screamed, already ripping a piece of her sleeve off . She swiped the wetness from her eyes savagely.

She need not have spoken so loudly, for several servants were already hurrying over to help.

"Go get Maester Luwin!" she yelled, pressing her makeshift cloth to her brother's wound on his right temple. 

After what seemed like hours, the Maester arrived. 

"Take him to my solar," the old man commanded grimly. "Keep the pressure on."

Bran was lifted away from her by a muscled servant and the blood-soaked cloth on his head was replaced by a servant girl, who walked with him into the castle. 

"Walk with me," Maester Luwin ordered, gesturing to Lyarra, who pushed herself off the ground and hurried after him. 

"What happened?"

As they made their way to Maester' Luwin's solar, Lyarra recounted what she saw of Bran's fall. The Maester frowned as she spoke, but didn't comment further than allowing her to help tend to her brother. Together, they stopped the bleeding in Bran's head, and ensured that bags of summer snow were applied regularly to it. She assisted Maester Luwin in setting her brother's shoulder, which had been dislocated and in attempting to fix Bran's leg, which had been severely damaged in the fall.

Finally, they were done. Bran had been moved to his own bed and Old Nan had been left to watch him. Lyarra curled in on herself as Maester Luwin shut the door. She put her hand over her mouth, restraining a sob.

Maester Luwin placed a hand on her shoulder. 

"You did well," he told her, rubbing her back. 

He glanced down at her black dress, which was bloodstained and had tears through it from both the fall and her creation of Bran's makeshift bandage.

"You should change your dress."

Before Lyarra could reply, a guard rushed up to them. 

His eyes were wide as they rested on her and Maester Luwin.

"You're done?" he asked, and Maester Luwin nodded. 

"Then Lord and Lay Stark require your presence in the Great Hall."

"Now," he added when Maester Luwin and Lyarra looked at each other. 

Thus, Lyarra found herself standing in front of her father and Lady Stark, in a bloodstained, tattered dress, explaining why her younger brother was currently lying in bed with a possibly permanently injured leg.

"It really was fortunate Lyarra was there," Maester Luwin said once she had finished. "From the accounts I have heard, had she not caught Bran, the boy would have been almost certainly killed, or crippled, at the very least."

At this news, Lady Catelyn pursed her lips. 

"What of his leg?" she inquired.

Lyarra winced. 

Maester Luwin grimaced. "He will need to rest for many moons and he will not walk without a limp for months, perhaps even years, but he will be able to walk on it."

At this, Lyarra's father's shoulders drooped. The movement was minute, and Lyarra only registered it because of how well she knew him bur it still made her heart sink.

It took a few moments for the Lord of Winterfell to recover. When he did, he managed to straighten his shoulders to the perfect posture he was holding beforehand. He looked Lyarra in the eyes and nodded deeply at her.

"Thank you, Lyarra. You have done House Stark a great service today."

Usually, Lyarra would have ecstatic to here this, but with the events of earlier that day, she only felt a bitter sought of satisfaction.

She smiled thinly at her father.

"Is there anything you wish?"

That question gave Lyarra pause as she considered it. It would be a lie to say that her mind didn't immediately stray to half a dozen things she would have liked from her father - the house name chief among them. However, it rankled her to think about benefitting from Bran's misfortune. Protecting her family should never be something she did for a reward.

With this thought resolute in her mind, Lyarra asked. "May I go change my dress?"

Her father let out a bark of laughter that echoed around the hall and Lady Stark let out a small sigh of relief. Lyarra tried not to be bitter about that. 

Her father shook his head, and smiled openly at her, a rare occurrence for the Quiet Wolf. 

"Of course, Lyarra. You may go."

With that, Lyarra curtseyed politely and left the room. 

\---

That night, there was no feast, as everyone took their dinners alone, with the Kings family and father gathering in a small, but well decorated room near the kitchens.

Lady Stark was not in attendance when the nightly events resumed the next day, instead choosing to sit by her son's side until he woke up.

For the last day and a half, Lyarra had been receiving adulation wherever she went and the only moments of peace she could find was when she escaped to the library or hid with Arya in one of the less frequented parts of the castle.

That night, she was wearing the same, deep blue dress with embroidered roses that she had when the King arrived, but this time, with a thin silver chain as a belt instead of the braided cloth. For the first time in years, Sansa had offered to style her hair, some of which was braided into a thin crown pinned over the rest of her tresses, which were left in curls down her back.

She was sitting between Jory Cassel and one of the scullery maids, Riyana Saller. Lyarra was focusing on the meat in front of her, unable to tear her mind from thoughts of Ghost, who she was vividly imagining ripping into his dinner. She could even taste the blood in his mouth, though the thought was strangely not putting her off her dinner, instead filling her with contentment. 

A booming voice broke her from her daydream. "Girl!"

Lyarra's attention was drawn to the front of the room to find King Robert staring at her. 

"Come here."

Lyarra's heart hammered as she made her way to the front of the room, her limb's stiff as she focused on keeping her posture as straight as possible. She curtseyed lowly when she got to the front of the room. 

"Lyarra Snow," the King said, his voice echoing around the room, which had gone silent. 

"I hear you saved young Brandon Stark from a serious fall yesterday."

Lyarra nodded. "Yes, your grace. Although save may be too complimentary a word for it - I merely slowed his descent."

Thing King laughed, throwing his head back. "She's humble - just like you Ned."

He turned back to Lyarra. "I have also heard that when your father offered you a reward, you merely begged leave to change your dress?"

Lyarra blushed but nodded again. "That is correct."

The King gave another roaring laugh. "Just like your aunt."

Once he composed himself, he looked Lyarra in the eye, his expression turning slightly more serious. 

"I trust you have not changed your mind about becoming a healer and joining the Three-Headed Guardians?"

"No, your grace, I have not."

The King smiled. "Good."

He stood. "Your father and I had a discussion this afternoon and we have decided that you will travel to King's Landing with us. Lord Stark has agreed to become Hand of the King and will be bringing all of his daughters, true and natural born with him. From there, you will be given passage aboard the finest vessel we can find so you can travel to the Temple of Tyrios in Tyrosh."

Lyarra was speechless. The rest of the hall was similarly silent. Her heart soared as she processed what the king had said. She was going to Tyrosh!

When she finally managed to gather her wits, Lyarra dropped into a low curtsey. 

"Thank you, your grace. My words cannot describe my gratitude."

The king laughed good-naturedly. "Of course, my girl. I'm sure it will pay off, and Westeros will soon be greeted by the Guardian Lyarra Snow."

Lyarra grinned and bowed her head respectfully as the King waved her away. Chattering resumed in the hall as she returned to her seat, receiving congratulations from many who knew her, and even some from the royal party who did not. Lyarra felt light as a feather as she spoke amiably with the people around her. She was finally going to become a healer.

\---

Two weeks later, Lyarra knocked on Bran's door. They were due to leave later that day and she had come here after picking up a package from Mikken down at his forge. 

Lady Stark was the one who opened the door. She pursed her lips when she saw who had knocked on it and Lyarra felt her gut churn nervously. After a few moments, she managed to steel herself enough to ask what she wanted.

"I've come to talk to Bran - I want to say goodbye."

Lady Stark breathed in sharply, and pursed her lips, but, after a few seconds of staring, nodded minutely. 

Lyarra gave a small, respectful curtsey as Lady Stark let her in. She was surprised when the Lady stepped out of the room after she entered, leaving her alone. 

She turned to look at her brother, who was peering at her from where he lay in bed. He looked too small, swamped in furs and drowning in blankets. It made Lyarra's heart twinge in a weird mixture of sadness and guilt.

She walked over and sat in the chair beside Bran's bed that Lady Stark had not doubt been occupying minutes earlier. 

She looked into her brother's eyes. He still hadn't said a thing.

She was the first one to break. "How are you?"

Bran shrugged. "Bored."

Lyarra smiled thinly. 

'Better bored than dead,' her mind whispered, but she didn't voice her thoughts. She'd learnt not to discuss his fall with him in the last few times she had visited him. They had not talked about it further than for Bran to thank her for catching him and for Lyarra to express that she was glad he was healing well. Or, as well as could be expected.

She frowned as she heard Summer howl outside the window. 

"Is your mother still not allowing him in here?"

Bran wrinkled his nose and shook his head. 

Lyarra's smile widened minutely. Suddenly, Bran turned his face sharply away from her, burying it in one of the furs beside him. Alarmed, Lyarra leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. Bran had been more melancholy in the past few weeks, only rarely smiling, and a shadow of his previous cheerful self. 

"What is wrong?"

When Bran answered, his voice was choked. "It is not fair that you and Father are leaving."

Lyarra sighed sadly and reached over to caress his face. 

"I'm sure Father has his reasons for accepting King Robert's offer. Not the least of which is most likely because the king would not have allowed him to decline."

Lyarra felt a drop of water touch her hand. 

"I won't even be in the courtyard when you go."

"Which is why I am here to say goodbye," she told him, as she gently turned his chin to face her. "I am sure Arya, Sansa and Father will come soon to do the same."

Bran sniffled. "Sansa already said goodbye."

Lyarra ran her hand through his hair. "You see? You get a private farewell, as opposed to the group one everyone else will receive."

Bran's lip twitched upwards at that, before his face settled into an upset frown again. 

"I don't want you to leave."

Lyarra swallowed back tears. "I know. But we all must pursue our paths in life to become who we are. You will too someday."

Bran's frown deepened. "I will never be a night. Not with my leg."

"Perhaps not. We can never truly know what will happen to us."

She withdrew her hand. 

"Nevertheless, I believe we will see each other again someday. And by the time we do, I hope that we have both found our proper places in life."

This time, Bran's smile was wider, if not as cheerful as it used to be before his fall. She reached out and placed a small, palm-sized carving of Summer in his hand. The direwolf was staring at him inquisitively from where he sat calmly. She had already given Rickon his own one earlier that day that depicted Shaggydog snarling cheerfully with his forelimbs lowered and hind raised, ready to play.

Bran looked down at it, before glancing back up at her. 

"Goodbye Lyarra. I love you."

She leaned forward and gently kissed him on the forehead. 

"I love you too, brother. Goodbye."

She rose and walked towards the door. However, just before she reached for the knob, Bran interrupted her. 

"Until we meet again, sister."

Lyarra smiled back at him and nodded deeply. "Until we meet again."

She opened the door, intending to search for Old Nan or someone else to mind him, as she was sure Lady Stark would have left. 

However, she was surprised to see the lady sitting in a seat just outside the room. 

The woman rose as she closed the heavy object behind her. Lyarra curtseyed. 

"My Lady."

"Miss Snow." 

Lyarra's head snapped up, eyes wide. Lady Stark had never addressed her with any sort of title before. At best, she would call her Snow, at worst, Bastard.

Lady Stark pursed her lips at Lyarra's bewilderment. 

"I would like to thank you for saving my son," she ground out. "He would most likely be dead, if you had not been there."

Lyarra could only stare, shocked. 

The Lady's face turned colder as she forced out, "And… I wish you good luck in your journey to becoming a Guardian of Tyrios."

The emotions from earlier overwhelmed Lyarra and her eyes watered.

Her voice cracked as she managed to reply. "Thank you, my lady."

She bowed her head as she felt a wet trail slip down her face. She swiped her hand across it. 

When she looked up, something in Lady Stark's expression had shifted, though she couldn't tell what. 

The Lady brushed a hand over her shoulder, the contact as light as a feather, before it withdrew sharply. With a deep breath, she drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin slightly, a trait she had passed down to her eldest daughter.

"Good day, Miss Snow."

Lyarra curtseyed. "Good day, my lady."

With that, she turned and hurried off. 

\---

She had just tied the last of her things to the cart her father had organised to be taken to Kings Landing when Robb came up to her. In his hands was a bundle of leather. She grinned as he approached. 

"Brother!" she enthusiastically greeted, and Robb smiled back, if a little dimmer than usual. 

"You will be leaving soon," he observed.

Lyarra nodded, her smile falling slightly as she contemplated parting from her brother. 

Robb glanced down at the object his hands before offering it to her. 

"I wanted to give you this."

Lyarra took the bundle, realising the mass of leather was actually straps. She unwound them to reveal a knife about as long as her forearm. She gasped as she unsheathed it, admiring the fine craftmanship and detailing. The blade was slightly curved, tapering up into a sharp, deadly point and the handle of the knife was twisting, with a snarling wolf head at the end. If she squinted, she could see that the eyes were red.

She sheathed the knife, running her hands along the scabbard, feeling the textured image of a wolf that had been indented into it. She beamed at Robb and threw her around him. 

"Thank you!"

When she withdrew, Robb was smiling bashfully. 

"It can be strapped to either side of your hip, and the leather can be adjusted so it can be attached to your arm or leg as well."

He took the knife from her and manipulated the straps to show her the different ways it could be positioned on her body. 

Lyarra tied the strap around her waist so that the knife hung at her left side. 

She frowned as she reached into her pocket. 

"I also have something for you, though, I am sure it will seem lacklustre compared to what you have given me."

She handed Robb a small carving, much like Bran and Rickon's. It showed Grey Wind standing regally, tall and proud; the leader of the pack. 

Robb examined it, rolling the figurine between his fingers as he felt the ridges from the carved hair. 

He smiled warmly at Lyarra.

"It is perfect," he proclaimed. 

His smile turned sad as he shook his head. 

"I will miss you," he confessed. 

Lyarra nodded. "And I, you."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Next time I see you, Snow, you will be a healer of the Triquetra."

Lyarra grinned and they exchanged another quick, enthusiastic embrace before it was time for everyone to gather in the courtyard. 

Robb helped her onto her horse by holding its reigns as she swung on before dutifully leading Sansa to the wheelhouse, which she had been invited to share with the queen and her children. Arya was placed on her horse by Father before he swung up. 

The king gave a short farewell speech from atop his horse, whilst the inhabitants of Winterfell watched on, as solemn as their Lord, now that he was leaving.

As they rode down the path away from Winterfell, Lyarra looked back at the castle, taking it in for the last time in years. 

Everything was about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be writing much, if at all, from Bran's perspective, but you can assume that he will not be able to walk at all until some time after he escaped Winterfell, and even then he cannot walk far.
> 
> It's only when he is coming back with Meera that he'll be able to start travelling any measure of distance by himself. 
> 
> This chapter may be a little filler - but the next one has more action, I promise. 
> 
> Thoughts?


	3. Leaving the Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so people know, I'll mostly be using the show's stroyline for continuity, but adding in some details from the books.

Lyarra sighed in relief as she swung down from her horse. She discretely rubbed her legs, trying to knead feeling back into them. 

They had been on the road for a few weeks and she had been riding every day. The king had offered her a place in the wheelhouse with his family and her sisters, but she had declined, not wanting to endure animosity from Sansa and the queen.

They were just under one week out from King's Landing and King Robert had finally allowed them to stop for a full day, (only having travelled for around two hours), at one of the finer inns that they had visited. The soldiers were setting up a more elaborate camp than they had before in the trip as Lyarra led her mount, Barley, a sturdy grey mare who had never flinched at Ghost, towards the area where the Northern horses were being tied up. 

Arya, who had elected to ride on horseback more often than not - only travelling in the carriage when her legs were too sore to sit on a saddle properly, walked with her, Nymeria loping along beside them. 

After about thirty minutes, their horses had been tended to and Arya and Lyarra were free to do whatever they wished until it was time to get ready for dinner, since neither of them had to set up tents for themselves, as Lord Stark had payed for Lyarra to stay in the inn alongside his trueborn daughters and the more important members of his retinue to King's Landing. He wisely organised for Arya and Lyarra to sleep in the same room whilst Sansa would join Septa Mordane, as it had been for the entire journey thus far. 

Lyarra saw that Arya was becoming restless and decided to escort her and Mycah, the butcher's son, to a small clearing beside a stream. 

"I want to train!" Arya proclaimed enthusiastically, bouncing on her toes.

Lyarra hesitated, but Arya latched onto her arm. ��"Please Lyarra!" 

Lyarra raised her eyebrow, looking over to Mycah, who shrugged and gave a nod, signalling his assent. Rolling her eyes, Lyarra agreed to oversee them, helping the two children find long sticks to practice with. The pair proceeded to measuredly go through drills as Lyarra walked around them, giving them advice and fixing their technique.

Suddenly, Ghost appeared from the trees. He had taken to melting in and out of the landscape as they travelled South, preferring to explore and hunt a little ways from the party and returning when they had settled down. Nymeria usually went with him, or loped beside Arya, scaring any Southron horse that got near her, whilst Lady sat dutifully in one of the luggage carts. 

The direwolf, now the size of a large dog, trotted up to her, butting his head against her and pawing at her dress. Lyarra frowned. Ghost had taken to doing that when Lyarra urgently needed to do something. 

"What is it, boy?"

Ghost flicked his head towards the trees and, at the very edge of her hearing, so faint it was more of a niggling feeling than a sound, Lyarra heard the crunching of footsteps and the murmuring of voices.

"Drop your sticks," she ordered, her sharp tone making Arya and Mycah comply immediately, their practice swords thudding into the grass.

A few moments later Sansa and Joffrey emerged from the trees, side by side. 

Lyarra curtseyed, nudging Arya so she would do the same, whilst Mycah had already bowed. 

"My Prince, Lady Sansa," Lyarra greeted, using Sansa's title as she knew the red-haired girl enjoyed being addressed so whenever any member of the royal family was around.

Arya had the good sense not to scoff at that, even though Lyarra knew she wanted to. 

"Ah, the bastard," Joffrey observed.

Lyarra's cheeks reddened, but she did not reply. The prince frowned, seemingly angry at the lack of reaction.

"What are you doing with Arya Stark and the peasant boy?" he asked petulantly, an antagonistic glint in his eye.

Lyarra smiled, falsely sweet. 

"Lord Stark asked me to occupy her, and the butcher also seemed busy, so I offered to watch over his son whilst he set up his tent."

Again, the prince seemed perturbed by the reply. His face wrinkled in fury as he tried to think of something to say. Lyarra's gut twisted anxiously.

None of the Lannisters liked her. The queen seemed offended by her very existence, which caused Jaime Lannister to hate her by association and Joffrey to sneer at her whenever his father or the Northern men were not around. The boy also hated Lyarra for the attention the king gave her, but Lyarra secretly thought that if the boy showed himself to be anything other than a whining baby, he would be treated more seriously. The boy rode in the carriage almost as much as Sansa, and much more often than Arya. Lyarra had only directly interacted with Myrcella and Tommen a few times, but on each occasion they spent the entirety of their short conversations staring at her wide-eyed.

Before the Prince could formulate a response, Lyarra dropped into a deep curtsey, bowing her head. 

"Forgive me, my prince, but I am sure Lord Stark will have need of us soon, and Mycah should be getting back to his father to help him prepare dinner. Good day."

The Prince's expression tightened, but one glance at Sansa standing beside him had him nodding reluctantly. 

Lyarra curtseyed again, just for good measure, forcing Arya to do so swell while Micah followed her lead, before she led them away at the most sedate pace she could manage. 

\---

That night, Lyarra received her plate in the inn's casual dining room. The royal family and the Starks were dining in one of its private rooms. Whilst the king had summoned her to dine with him a handful of times during the journey, Lyarra usually ate with the Northern men, or alone with Ghost. Tonight was one of the latter events, as Father had payed for her to receive dinner from the inn's kitchens, and she did not want to make the men jealous by parading superior food in front of them, or worse, have to fend off hungry Northerners.

She surveyed the room, Ghost standing sedately by her side, having already hunted earlier in the day as well as received a bone from the butcher when Lyarra returned his son. Most of the tables were occupied or full, a group of Night's Watch recruits having elected to camp outside the inn, on top of the royal and Northern party. 

Eventually she spied a mostly empty table, which only had one boy sitting at it, who was hunched over his bowl, peering around nervously. She walked over to him and he froze as she came to a stop in front of him. 

"May I sit here?" she asked.

His eyes widened comically at her question, but he quickly nodded once he remembered.

"Of - Of course, my lady."

He stared at her as she took a seat across from him, Ghost arranging himself comfortably at her feet.

Lyarra mustered up her most welcoming smile for him. The boy looked seconds away frowm crying, his round face blotchy and his round figure curling in on itself.

"I am Lyarra Snow of Winterfell," she introduced. 

The boys eyes were still bugged as he replied, "Samwell Tarly of the Reach… well not any more I guess, since I am to take the Black."

Lyarra looked kindly at him. This boy did not seem like one to have been sentenced to the Wall for some heinous crime, like most of the recruits were according to Uncle Benjen, but he also did not seem like the type of second or third son to seek glory fighting for the realm. Despite her wonderings, though, Lyarra resolved not to ask him about his reasons, deciding that they were his own business. 

"That is very brave of you."

The boy huffed out a hysterical laugh and Lyarra's lip quirked downwards.

"Are you hoping to join the stewards?" she asked. 

The boy seemed to think about this for a few seconds before nodding. 

"Yes, I do. I like reading very much."

Lyarra's nodded. "Then hopefully you will be assigned to Maester Aemon there."

The boy nodded and then looked down at his food. The conversation lulled for a few moments before he glanced back up.

"Do you… Do you like reading?" he asked nervously. 

Lyarra considered the question for a moment before answering, "I read often, and there are many books that I have enjoyed, however there are others that have been painful to study."

The boy nodded understandingly before launching into a small tirade about inviting prose and smooth phrasing. From there, the conversation flowed smoothly, as they discussed topics they had both read in books.

At the end of the night, when Lyarra decided to retire, she looked Sam in the eye. 

"Thank you Sam. You could do well at the Wall, if you focus on what you are good at."

The boy looked dampened at her farewell. "Goodbye Lyarra."

"Goodnight. Maybe I'll visit you on the Wall someday."

"I hope you do."

With that, Lyarra ascended the staircase to her room and was met with Arya's complaints of Sansa and Joffrey and Queen Cersei.

\---

The next morning, the dining room was even more crowded than it had been the previous night, with every Lannister soldier with some amount of wealth electing to take their breakfast in the inn. 

Lyarra had not been able to find Sam, but had managed to procure a spot at the only free table in the room.

Her relatively peaceful meal was interrupted by her table being rattled as someone slammed a mug and a plate onto it.

Lyarra snapped her head up to find the Hound dropping into the seat across from her. She stared at him, wide eyed as he lifted his spoon to his mouth. His eyes flickered to her and he paused, scowling. 

"All the other tables are taken, and I don't want to sit with any of those golden-haired cunts," he grumbled.

Lyarra looked around, seeing every table (which varied from being able to sit four, like the one she was at, to being able to sit around 10) occupied by Lannister men to some degree. She looked back at the Hound and shrugged before turning to her food. Her entire body was tense as she continued eating. 

Uncomfortable silence descended upon the table. After a few moments, the Hound grunted. 

"Where's your wolf?" he asked in his rumbling, harsh voice.

Lyarra jerked, startled, and took a few second to gather her wits enough to reply. 

"He's outside - the butcher gave him another aurochs leg."

The Hound grunted again, this time in ascent, and took another bite of his breakfast, which was some sort of stew.

"I hear you're gonna be a healer?"

Lyarra nodded. "I'm getting on a ship a few days after we get into King's Landing."

The Hound looked at her carefully, eyes flickering to the blade at her waist. "You didn't want to be a knight?"

The 'like your aunt' went unsaid, but hung in the air nonetheless.

Lyarra considered this question carefully. "Women cannot become knights in Westeros, and I know the rules would not be changed for someone of my birth. Besides, knighthood is not the only noble position I could pursue. A sentiment I'm sure you also agree with."

The Hound huffed, and Lyarra was sure she saw the edge of his mouth twitch upwards as he looked back down at his bowl, his hair obscuring his face.

"Nobility has nothing to do with it, girl," he eventually groused.

Lyarra shrugged again. "That doesn’t mean you don't agree."

At that, the Hound actually laughed, a short, barking sort of thing that exemplified his namesake. 

"You may be a bastard, Snow, but you're more competent than most of these asses."

Not knowing what to say to the unexpected complement, Lyarra just nodded respectfully as they consumed the rest of their meal in silence.

\---

They arrived in King's Landing in the period of time that they suspected. The King was met with much fanfare as all rode in together. 

Father was immediately whisked away to a Small Council meeting, whilst his daughters were left to get themselves settled. Astonishingly, Lyarra had been given a room not far from her sisters, though she did not bother unpacking her things. The single, light trunk and one, sturdy cloth bag that could be strapped around her back would be loaded onto the ship in a few days' time.

She had just gotten out the dresses she planned to wear before she departed, when she heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called and glanced up to see Jory enter.

"Hello, my lady," he greeted, a slight teasing tone to his voice. 

Lyarra scowled. "You know not to address me as such, Jory."

He laughed and shook his head. "You know I can't resist."

He sobered, before looking at her seriously. "Your Lord Father has ordered me to take you into the city."

"Where?" she asked. 

Jory just grinned, "You'll see."

They stopped their horses in front of a blacksmith not one hour later. Lyarra furrowed her eyebrows. Jory only smiled mysteriously at her as he swung down from his mount. He held Barley as she dismounted and she accepted his arm as he led her forwards. 

"Lord Stark told me that the king had been recommended this blacksmith by Jon Arryn himself," he told her as they walked inside. "I think it strange that he would do that, since the king already has his own royal blacksmith."

Lyarra shot him a confused, angry look, but did not have time to comment as they were approached by an old man. 

"We are here to check on Lord Eddard Stark's commission," Jory announced with a commanding tone.

The blacksmith nodded. "Ah, the Hand of the King's order. I'll send the boy right out."

A few minutes later, a boy, with black hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a dirty vest that revealed his muscled arms, walked out from the back of the shop. He was holding a sword in his hand.

His eyes flickered to Lyarra before landing on Jory. 

"Is this for her?" he asked. 

"Aye."

The boy turned to her, and held out the sword. 

Deftly, she took it in her hands. The design matched the knife Robb had given her. She unsheathed the sword to find that the blade was cut in the same structure as a bastard sword, designed to be held with one or two hands, but the weapon was thinner and lighter than most other swords. She swung carefully in front of her, checking its balance, which was perfect. Everything about it was perfect. She knew just by looking at it that the blade was well-forged and would hold up in battle, and the handle with the wolf's head at the end had small red jewels encrusted in its eye sockets. Even the scabbard had a wolf detailed into it. 

"I just need to measure a strap for it," the boy said. "Would you prefer the sword at your side, or on your back?"

Lyarra hesitated. "I do not know."

The boy looked at her thoughtfully, before saying, "I shall give you both, you will decide in time which is better for you."

Lyarra smiled gratefully as the boy measured her waist and back so he could prepare the correct straps. 

"Come back in two days and it'll be completely ready."

"Thank you," Lyarra said.

The boy smiled at her, and nodded. 

"What is your name?" she asked. 

"Gendry, my lady."

Lyarra noticed that he did not mention his last name. 

"I am no lady - my name is Lyarra Snow of Winterfell."

Gendry quirked his lips. "Well, us bastards have to look out for each other, don't they?"

Lyarra mirrored the gesture. "We do."

\---

Lyarra returned to the blacksmith the day before she was to leave for King's Landing. 

Her knife was strapped to her right side, ready for her new sword to join it at her left. 

Gendry handed her the sword and its accompanying straps, showing her how to position them properly. She set the sword at her hip and curtseyed gratefully to him. 

"I hear my father has already payed you," she said. 

He nodded. 

“He did not pay you to make two belts, though, did he?”  
   
Gendry shook his head.  
   
She reached into a pocket on her dress.   
   
“I unfortunately cannot pay you on anything of value, but hope you can accept my token of gratitude.”  
   
Gendry took the small, oval disk of wood on his hand. Lyarra had not had much time to carve since she left Winterfell, but had spent most of the last two days sculpting the head of a bull onto that piece of wood to match the helm she had seen in the forge. She had not had time to paint it further than a gloss.  
   
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, blushing as he gave a short bow.

Lyarra nodded to him respectfully and they bid each other farewell. 

\---

As soon as she saw her father, she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, having not had the time to express her gratitude to him beforehand since she hadn't seen him in two days.

Her father laughed, picking her up for a few seconds, before releasing her. 

"You like it, do you?" he asked.

Lyarra nodded enthusiastically. 

"Let's see it then."

She unsheathed her sword and handed it to him. He smiled as he examined it.

"It's good craftmanship. I must visit that blacksmith myself if I get the time."

He handed it back to her. 

"What's its name?"

Lyarra furrowed her eyebrows. "Pardon?"

"Every great sword needs a name."

Lyarra thought for a few seconds before deciding.

"Wolf's Bite. It will be called Wolf's Bite." 

She touched her knife, hanging at her right hip. "And this will be Tooth."

Her father smiled approvingly and nodded.

"Strong names for strong weapons."

Lyarra bowed her head respectfully. "Thank you, Father."

He put a hand on her shoulder. 

"Get dressed," he ordered. "You have been summoned to dine with the king tonight."

\---

Later that evening, after the Starks had retired from dinner, Lyarra led Arya to her chambers. Her sister had not stopped pouting all night, furious that Lyarra was leaving her. 

"I don't want to go to your room," she whined. 

"Believe me, little sister, you will once I show you this," Lyarra assured her as they opened the door and she walked over to her bed. She knelt down and pulled a package wrapped in a cloth canvas.

She turned back to Arya and offered it to her.

Silently, Arya reached out and grasped the handle, which was poking out of the cloth. She drew her arm back, revealing a thin, pointy sword that she could easily lift. 

Arya laughed. 

"It's a sword!"

Lyarra grinned and nodded. "So you can defend yourself."

Arya slashed the sword through the air, doing a few basic attacks and blocks with her new weapon.

"What will you name it?" she asked. 

Arya frowned, looking back at her questioningly. 

"Every great sword needs a name," she told her, parroting her father's words from earlier. 

Just like she had, Arya took some time to consider this before she grinned. 

"Needle," she proclaimed.

Lyarra laughed. "Every Lady needs a needle."

Arya nodded determinedly. "And I'm going to become the best at wielding mine."

Lyarra put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you will be, little sister."

\---

The next morning, Lyarra found Sansa and Arya bickering over the breakfast table (as usual), and this time, there was no Septa Mordane to mediate, as Father had wanted a private family breakfast. 

"I can love both Lady and the Lannisters at the same time!"

"What if the Lannisters ask you to kill Lady? What will you do then? You know they might - they hate our direwolves."

Sansa drew back at this statement as if she'd been slapped. She fell into silence and looked as if she were about to burst into tears. 

Lyarra set the things she was carrying down on the table beside her loudly, drawing both the girls' attention. 

"Both of you listen here," she ordered in a firm, commanding tone that she usually never dared assume around any of her trueborn siblings. "If anyone in this city threatens either Nymeria or Lady, and you no longer feel that you can keep them safe, you release them into the wild and allow them to roam free in the woods. It is your responsibility to do that for them."

Both girls stared, shocked at that. 

"Do you understand?" Lyarra asked harshly. 

Both girls nodded. Even Sansa, who Lyarra had thought would sneer at the command, agreed with it seriously. 

Their father chose that moment to enter the room. 

"Good morning," he greeted. "You all look lovely today."

It was true. Sansa had her hair pinned in a complicated, gravity defying Southron style that twisted intricately around her head and was wearing a regal, light blue gown. Lyarra had decided to wear the dress that she had worn the night previously, which was made out of thinner material than all her other dresses and was cut in a flowy style that was more alike to the Southron styles than the Northern ones. Bran, Rickon, Robb and Theon had pooled their money to have it commissioned for her fourteenth nameday. She had decided to wear her hair pulled off her face, twisted in a knot at the back of her head that allowed her hair to flow freely to her shoulder blades, rather than her mid-back, stylish, yet effectively keeping it out of her face and high enough on her back that it would not get in the way too much. Even Arya had allowed her hair to be braided nicely and was wearing a light grey dress that made her look like the sweet little girl she was supposed to be. 

They all ate together for a few minutes before Lyarra remembered. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I have something for each of you."

She handed Arya and Sansa each a carving of their direwolves. She had her own one of Ghost packed in her cloth bag, completing the set. Arya's showed Nymeria crouching, ready to attack, whilst Sansa's depicted Lady sitting regally, head raised slightly in the way Sansa often did to her. Both of her sisters smiled at her. 

It had been hard for Lyarra to decide what to make for her father, but in the end, she had committed to finishing a piece she had started some months prior, which showed Lord Stark and every one of his children, including Lyarra, carved into a large, sideways oval slab of wood.

"This is beautiful," her father complimented smiling at her kindly. 

In what seemed like no time at all, they were leaving. Lyarra went down to the kennels and freed Ghost, and Father agreed to allow Nymeria and Lady out for the day. 

And then she was boarding the ship, exchanging tight hugs with her father and Arya, and a less enthusiastic but still warm one with Sansa. Jory, who had accompanied them to the docks alongside many of the Northern company, even gave her a short embrace. 

"Lyarra Snow? Bound for Tyrosh?" a man Lyarra Snow assumed was the Captain asked.

He had a well-trimmed dark grey beard and laugh lines around his dark brown eyes. 

Lyarra nodded.

"I'm Captain Malrik Barner. We will be making stops at Dragonstone and Dorne before we arrive," he informed her.

Lyarra nodded again, her father having told her this when they arrived at King's Landing. "I have been made aware."

"Good! Now we best be heading off."

Around her, the ship came to life as the crew readied it to leave.

Lyarra watched her family as she sailed away, Arya waving wildly. She did not look away until the city had disappeared over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra's hairdo was really hard to describe - so just picture Margary's from the show - the one that was kind of like a pony-tail.
> 
> Also, as you probably have noticed, there will be no direwolves harmed in the making of this story (except Greywind, sorry) - just imagine tht Bran saw Lyarra say this in a dream and related it to Rickon so he knows about it for when he stays with the Umbers.


	4. On the Sea

They docked at Dragonstone in the late afternoon. 

Captain Barner had managed to secure himself and everyone on his ship, the Whirlwind, a place in the castle for the night on the account that he was good friends with one of Lord Stannis' most trusted advisors. 

Lyarra had managed to visit some of the island's beaches before it was time for dinner and took her meal with the crew, despite wanting to be alone. She knew that she should stoke some good will among them, especially since she would be stuck with them for some weeks with nowhere to escape. The crew talked to her amiably enough, even if some of the men eyed Wolf's Bite laughingly at first. But, when she offered to show them her skill with a blade, most of them backed off, whilst those who accepted her offer to fight them the next day looked more approving than teasing after that. 

The meal finished quickly and everyone was soon retiring to their rooms, wanting to get a good night's rest in anticipation for their first day of long travel tomorrow. Even though Lyarra wouldn't actually be doing work on the ship, she decided to follow their advice. 

However, she could not get to sleep. It alluded her, no matter how hard she tried. She adjusted the fire, rearranged the blankets, and even let Ghost up on the bed, but nothing worked. 

Eventually, after hours of tossing and turning, she decided to get up and take a walk around the castle. She pulled a forest green cloak on, and exited the room. 

She and Ghost had been padding around the halls for about ten minutes, when Lyarra realised she was being pulled. It was as if some invisible force was pushing her to walk deeper into the castle. Eventually, she reached one of the abandoned areas in the building, picking up a lantern at the end of one of the halls and continuing into on darkness. 

She had been walking for another five minutes before she turned a sharp corner and was suddenly no longer in the castle. The walls here were not made of stone, instead they reflected the light from the lantern back at her at odd angles. 

She walked over to the wall to her right, placing her hand on it and gasping when she felt the cool, jagged surface. She squinted, realising what it was. Dragon glass. She had barely registered the fact that she was surrounded by the rare and strange substance when she was compelled to move deeper into the cavernous tunnels, like a string was wrapped around her waist and someone was tugging on it, pulling her towards them.

Her compulsion drew her down sloping pathways that she'd doubted anyone had visited in a very long time, perhaps not since the castle was created. She let her left hand run along the wall as she went on. Eventually, she began to notice it getting hotter. The very material beneath her fingers was starting to heat up. Suddenly, the land flattened out and the walls widened into a deep cavern. There were some holes in the floor and scorching hot air was wafting up through them. Small shards of fiery light shone through them, just enough to cover the room in a dim glow.

In the centre of the room, a mountain of multi-coloured dragon glass was formed in the middle of the room. Lyarra walked numbly up to it and began to climb it, her feet somehow finding the few perfectly flat footholds without her noticing. She ascended the tall structure as if in a daze, barely noticing any of her surroundings as she circled around the narrowing circumference. 

The pulling only stopped when she reached the summit of the small mountain.

Sitting nestled on a rough pedestal, cradled by in a nest of dragon glass, so unevenly cut that it didn't reflect light like the crystal-esque shards she'd seen up to there, was a large stone. Not fully aware of what she was doing, Lyarra picked it up. 

The three-dimensional, ridged oval was slightly larger than her head, and was a deep blue with shining scales of purple dotted over it. She held the stone in front of her face, something hot bursting to life inside her as she beheld it.

Suddenly, her trance was broken. Lyarra jerked and looked around the cavern her head spinning as she finally took in her surroundings. She realised how uncomfortably hot she was, and felt the sweat drip down her back and plaster her hair to her face. She quickly made her way back down the mountain, stumbling slightly, where her feet had been as sure as a goat's when she ascended it. As she did, she noticed other stones like the one she was holding, only in different colours, littering the path down. 

When she reached the bottom, Ghost flocked to her side, panting heavily, but silently. 

Lyarra didn't remember putting the lamp on the ground, but she found it placed just outside the mouth of the cave. She rested the stone at her feet as she bent to pick the lamp up. As she hunched down, she leant her hand against a jutting stone. However, her hand slipped as she bent, causing Lyarra to cry out as the glass cut a gash through her hand. She hissed as she pulled it into her chest. 

She glanced at the stone that had cut her hand, a flash of anger scorching through her. She snarled and reached out with her other hand, breaking it from where it was attached to the wall. She huffed out, her fury dying as quickly as it sprung up. She rolled the shard between her fingers, its blood red and black facets glittering in the light. Lyarra frowned pocketing the piece of dragon glass and picking her egg-shaped stone up in her injured arm and holding the lamp in the other. 

Ghost stuck to her side, leaning his back into her thigh as she silently made her way back to her room, hanging the lantern back up on the wall. She put the stone on the small table in her chambers, expecting to need to wipe blood off it, but finding none. Frowning, she brushed her uninjured palm over it, and was startled to feel a subtle warmth emanating from it. 

Abruptly, wariness swept over her, and Lyarra was only just able bind her hand in it before she collapsed on her bed, falling into a deep sleep. 

\---

The next morning, the crew woke early in the morning and were sailing away from Dragonstone not one hour after first light.

Lyarra was ribbed for looking bedraggled and tired, and a few men even teased her for the cut on her hand. The Captain, however, asked her concernedly where she got her wound. She told him that she had cut herself carving the night before. The man nodded, smiling reassuringly at her and telling her to get some rest, for it would be a long journey. 

Lyarra acquiesced, and returned to her small cabin, where she took her stone out of her bag along with the blood red dragon glass shard, staring at it for a long time, before she gave into her compulsion and nicked her forearm with the it, allowing blood to drip onto the stone and watching, entranced, as they absorbed into it.

\---

For the next two weeks, the Whirlwind sailed forward with no break. 

For the first five days, both Lyarra and Ghost were afflicted with a terrible nausea that caused them to vomit profusely and stopped them from keeping food down. The crew shook their heads when they saw, some smiling at her and assuring her that her 'sea sickness' would pass, whilst others just laughed at her. Lyarra would have been furious, but she was too ill to feel anything other than dread and weariness.

On the sixth day, she woke up feeling better and was finally able to keep her meals down without lunging for a bucket. She spent the rest of the trip either watching the sea pass by or carving - her father had sent her onto the ship with three great slabs of Northern oak, allowing her to make up for the time she'd missed whilst they were travelling the King's Road.

She also occasionally sparred with a few of the crew; she could defeat many of them in a fight, but there were a few who could best her easily. The first mate in particular, in addition to the Captain, liked pointing out ways that she could improve, that both chagrined Lyarra and made her grateful. 

They arrived in Dorne on their fourteenth day, and they only stopped long enough for her and Ghost to stretch their legs along the beach for a couple of hours. 

When she returned, the Whirlwind had far more passengers than before. The previously quite empty ship was teaming with Dornish soldiers who shot furtive glances at Ghost and eyed her distrustfully as the duo boarded. 

The first mate, Emmerson Tarlor, a tall man with dots of grey dusting his hair and well-trimmed, dark brown beard, walked up to her before she could disappear into her cabin. 

"Lady Snow," he addressed her, inclining his head. "The Captain has invited you to take your evening meal with him and his other guests, if it would so pleases you."

Lyarra smiled. "Thank you, Emmerson, I will be there. And you know you can call me Lyarra."

Emmerson grinned cheekily, "Aye, my lady."

Lyarra scowled playfully. "If you are not careful, I will put you on your ass in front of the Dornish guards."

"With all due respect, I don't think you could."

Lyarra shrugged. "Maybe not, but one day."

Emmerson nodded. "Aye, one day. One day you'll be able to put anyone you want on their ass - and then heal the bones you broke doing it."

Lyanna ducked her head, blushing. "Thank you. I'll go get ready."

\---

That night, Lyarra stood in the Captain's quarters, conversing quietly with Emmerson.

She was wearing a flowing green dress with her silver chain belt, her hair pinned back in the same way it had been on the day she left King's Landing. (She had been wearing it this way more often as of late, as it was easy and practical.)

The Captain entered a moment later, leading in four Dornish people - one woman and three men. The tallest one, a man that held himself confidently, with the air of someone who's commands were followed wherever he went, was wearing a thin, gold and orange, robe-like garb. The one next to him, a boy who was considerably younger, maybe around Lyarra's age, was wearing a pink and gold accented robe of similar cut to his companion's, he had warm brown eyes and straight, shortly cut hair. The last man, who was perhaps a few years older than the boy, had sandy brown hair with sky blue eyes and was wearing loose black pants, with a red and yellow vest.

The woman, who appeared to be three or four years older than Lyarra, had light brown skin, darker than her companions', wavy black hair that only reached slightly past her chin, and rich brown eyes that glinted with cleverness. She was wearing a silky, deep orange dress detailed with gold that was made of even thinner material than Lyarra's with a thick gold belt accentuating her waist. Around her neck was a snake made of gold, with green jewels encrusted into its eye that glinted when she moved. 

Lyarra followed Emmerson's lead and curtseyed deeply to them. 

Captain Barner inclined his head respectfully to her. 

"May I introduce Prince Oberyn Martell, Prince Trystane Martell, Lady Sarella Sand and Ser Daemon Sand."

He turned to the four imposing figures that had entered with him. "And this, my lords and lady, is Lady Lyarra Snow of Winterfell."

Lyarra straightened. "I am honoured to be travelling with you."

Prince Oberyn tilted his head at her. 

"I'm sure you are," he said, his Dornish accent catching on his consonants.

A beat of silence fills the room before Captain Barner broke it, "Please sit down. Cook has prepared us a fine meal for tonight."

Captain Barner took a seat at the head of the table, whilst Oberyn Martell sat at his left and Emmerson sat at his right. Lyarra, mercifully got to sit next to the first mate, with Ser Daemon on her other side and Lady Sarella across from her and Prince Trystane across from Ser Daemon. 

The Captain struck up a conversation with the Prince Oberyn about Dornish seas and weather, trying to include his companions in the discussion as much as possible. Lyarra was grateful for the opportunity to sit silently as she tried to somehow go unnoticed, even though there were only seven seated at the table. Her gut churned nervously and she had to force the food down her throat, even though it tasted very nice. She got the distinct feeling that the Dornish didn’t like her, and that that dislike went beyond simple mistrust. 

Lyarra had been doing a good job of not talking, but alas, no conversation about the weather could last forever and there was a soon a lull in the dialogue. This gave Prince Oberyn the opportunity to turn to her. 

"The Captain said you were from Winterfell, correct?"

"Yes, my lord."

"So that means you must be Ned Stark's daughter."

"Yes, I am."

The prince tilted his head back. "You know, I do not like your father much."

Lyarra stilled. What possible reason could a Dornishmen have for disliking her father?

It took a moment for her brain to catch up and for her to remember the events that happened at the end of King Robert's rebellion. Lyarra suddenly wished she had worn Wolf's Bite before leaving her cabin and that Tooth was in a more accessible than strapped to her thigh. She was stuck in a room with the Red Viper of Dorne, one of his Sand Snakes, and a knight, all of whom hated her father. Most of all, she wished she had let Ghost come along with her. He wouldn’t let harm come to her.

She inclined her head. "I'm sure you don't, your grace."

The prince looked at her curiously.

"Oh?" he asked. "How so?"

Lyarra swallowed, considering her words carefully before answering. "My father does not talk about the rebellion much, but when he does, he always emphasises the severity of the injustice of Princess Elia and her children being murdered. He called for Amory Lorch and the Mountain's head after the sack of the city, but King Robert denied him. He says that their slaughter and the fact that their killers were never brought to justice was his greatest dishonour."

Prince Oberyn's eyes held a hard glint as he sneered back. "Even more than your birth?"

Lyarra jerked her head back, as if he had physically slapped her, and she felt her cheeks begin to redden.

"Father!" Lady Sarella explained sharply. "That was uncalled for."

She glared at her father, "This girl has done nothing to you, only answer a question truthfully. She is not responsible for any injustice done to our family. You shouldn't insult her like that. Don't you always harp on about how Dorne is not ashamed of its bastards? Even if other regions are not so open, you should take advantage of that."

The prince stared at his daughter for a few seconds and a cold trickle of dread poured down Lyarra's spine. However, the Red Viper did not turn his venom on her, instead glancing away from Lady Sarella quickly and looking back at Lyarra. 

He looked her straight in the eye, regret evident on his face as he said, "My dear daughter is correct. I should not have spoken to you so. I am sorry, my lady."

Lyarra was sure she was gaping. A prince was apologising to her?

There was a full minute of silence before Lyarra frantically nodded. "Of course, Prince Oberyn, you are forgiven."

An awkward quiet descended upon the room before Lady Sarella straightened.

"So, Lady Lyarra, why are you travelling to Tyrosh?"

Lyarra was surprised at being addressed again so quickly and scrambled for words.

"My father has given me leave to join the Guardians of Tyrios," Lyarra replied nervously.

"Ah! I am also looking to study with them. How long do you plan to stay at the temple?"

"As long as they will allow me."

"You plan to earn a triquetra?"

Lyarra nodded. "If I have the skill."

Lady Sarella, "I only plan to stay around six months, maybe a year if their teachings are good. Hopefully I will be given a circle for my troubles."

Lyarra's eyes flitted to Trystane Martell, who had been sitting quietly throughout the meal. 

"May I enquire as to why you are travelling to Tyrosh, your grace?"

The young prince started at being addressed, head jerking. 

"Oh! Um… My father wants me to spend some time with Uncle Oberyn's sellsword company, the Long Lances."

"Yes! It will teach you how to truly fight, as well as show you how those who are not of noble birth earn their keep," his uncle explained, slapping him on the shoulder. 

It was then that the knight sitting next to her spoke up, "I have been sent away with my prince to make sure he doesn't get stabbed by some vagabond."

Oberyn laughed at that and Prince Trystane smiled shyly at the knight sitting across from him. 

The conversation flowed on naturally from there, mostly centred around life in Dorne or on the sea but, a few times, Lyarra was asked to explain some aspect of life in the North or to comment on how she has found her journey so far.

Prince Oberyn proved to be amiable and quick-witted when he was in a good mood, whilst Lady Sarella was as clever as Lyarra had first thought she was. Prince Trystane seemed a nervous sought. He stuttered over his words and would seem shocked whenever Lyarra spoke directly to him, but he was nice and answered her questions with a smile. Ser Daemon, on the other hand, was outgoing and boisterous, and always held a mischievous glint in his eye.

Lyarra was feeling better about the prospect of sharing her voyage with them by the end of the night. Once she had gotten dressed into her nightclothes, she dripped blood onto her oval stone until the pulling in her gut had stopped. Then, she dressed her arm and went to bed, falling into a deep sleep. 

\---

The next day, Lyarra wore her shortest dress, which was cut just above her knees and made of a thick blue cloth. She slipped on a pair of sturdy riding breeches, and did not neglect to pin both her weapons to her sides. 

Ghost, who was now just tall enough for her to pat his head without bending down, flanked her closely. 

Emmerson pushed himself off the mast of the ship, which he had been leaning on, when he saw her. 

"Ready to train, young Lyarra?" he asked, a challenging smile on her face. 

"Always," Lyarra replied, unsheathing Wolf's Bite and spinning it in one hand, a move she had been practicing for close to one month, and had finally perfected on the beach the day before.

"Impressive," he commented, pulling his sword out in one swift movement and holding it out in front of him in two hands. "But parlour tricks won't win you a fight, girl."

Lyarra mirrored him, readjusting her grip so she held her sword in both hands. She waited for him move first, and he didn't disappoint. Then their blades were clashing and Lyarra was ducking and weaving to avoid their blows, her feet stumbling every so often as they failed to account for the shifting floor. Emmerson was about as strong as Robb, but he had years more practical experience than her brother did, and he didn't stumble when he ran around the ship.

As usual, she lasted longer than she did the previous day, which now made her time some five and a half minutes, before Emmerson did a complicated sword manoeuvre that involved him twisting his blade around hers and flicking it to the side, jerking it sharply enough for her to drop it. He advanced and within the next second, his sword was at her chest. She put her hands up. 

"I yield."

Emmerson pulled his sword away and picked up Wolf's Bite from where it lay at his feet, handing it to her hilt first. 

Lyarra heard a sound from behind her and she turned to see Prince Oberyn clapping, Lady Sarella, Prince Trystane and Ser Daemon standing with him, alongside the Dornish guards. Emmerson glared at him, but the prince ignored it.

"You have been trained in sword fighting?" he asked. 

Lyarra nodded. "I occasionally took instruction from Ser Rodrik, Winterfell's Master at Arms."

The prince tilted his head to the side. "Occasionally?"

Lyarra straightened her back. "I have trained with him one or two times a week, since I was six. There have been times where he taught me more often, but there have also been occasions where I would go weeks without meeting with him. My brother, Robb, would sometimes join me."

Prince Oberyn raised his eyebrows. "You have impressive talent, especially for the amount of training you have received. All of my girls have been trained in some weapon or another, though, only Obara and Sarella share your gift at swordplay."

He glanced at his daughter and Lady Sarella nodded. "It is true, though, I tend to prefer the scimitar to the traditional Westerosi weapons. And Obara likes the spear better."

She rotated her body slights so that Lyarra could see a curved, flat blade handing at her side. It was wider than the usual longsword and widened before sharply tapering into a deadly point.

"And," she went on, "Obella, Dorea and Loreza are too young for you to know what weapon they will specialise in."

Prince Oberyn shrugged. "That is true."

He turned back to Lyarra. 

"Fight me," he challenged as Ser Daemon handed him a sword. "I want to feel your skill first hand."

Lyarra couldn't very well refuse him, so she nodded and lifted Wolf's Bite in front of her.

She lost. Of course she did. The fight, if you could really call it that, was over in less than a minute, and ended in Lyarra's backside hitting the deck. 

"Get up," Prince Oberyn ordered. 

And she did. Again and again. 

Lyarra fell over more than she had in a good while, but she learnt more from Prince Oberyn in that one day than she had from any single training session with any other person. He was an excellent teacher, pointing out her flaws, and praising her successes. Occasionally, he would stop mid-fight to fix her technique or show her a manoeuvre that she should try. By the time the sun started to slip beneath the horizon, Lyarra's limbs ached. 

"Good," Prince Oberyn announced, finally allowing her to sheath her sword. "You have promise."

He turned to Prince Trystane, who had spent all day watching, alongside Ser Daemon and Lady Sarella. 

"You will train with us tomorrow, nephew. And you, Daemon and Sarella are welcome to join us."

Lyarra nodded and curtseyed stiffly. "Thank you, your grace."

Then, she walked back inside, ready to melt into her bed. 

\---

Later that night, Lyarra found herself on the deck. Despite every part of her body being permeated by a bone-deep tiredness that made her limbs drag, she could not fall asleep. For once, she had not practically passed out after bleeding onto her egg. 

Lyarra pulled her thin grey cloak around her as she leaned on the railing of the ship. She was rarely cold now that she was down south, but the sea wind had a way of cutting uncomfortably into her arms, especially at night. 

She glanced to her left and saw that someone had left a harp leaning on one of the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck. Despite knowing that she shouldn't, Lyarra picked it up, her fingers itching as they ran over the strings. 

She had not played in so long.

Before she could stop herself, Lyarra was plucking out a tune. She stumbled through the introduction of the song, but eventually muscle memory kicked in and her fingers danced in time to the dark, foreboding tune. Lyarra started singing. 

Her voice flowed out into the night as she weaved a tale of black crows flying out to meet icy monsters in battle. The fight was long and hard, and the song went through many dynamic and key changes as the highs and lows of the battle unfolded. Eventually, the song dictated the crows throwing the dead men back, building themselves a cage of ice to protect themselves should the Others come back. However, in the final verse, the song took a dark turn, as it warned that the blue-eyed beings would one day come back to rid the world of life. 

The last, haunting notes, rang around the clearing and Lyarra let them sit in the air.

"That was beautiful."

Lyarra stood up abruptly from where she had sat to play. She stumbled as the blood rushed to her head, but was caught by small, strong hands.

"Whoa! It's only me," Lady Sarella assured her as she helped her right herself. 

Once Lyarra was steady, she inclined her head.

"Thank you, my lady."

"You are very good," she complimented. "Your voice is as smooth and rich as silk."

Lyarra bowed her head.

"You are too kind. I know my harp playing leaves something to be desired."

Lady Sarella shrugged. "It is good nonetheless."

Lyarra smiled, "It is fine. I haven't played in months."

"There is a story there," Lady Sarella observed as she sat down on the step, forcing Lyarra to sit down beside her as she was still holding her arm. This meant that they were facing each other on their makeshift seat.

Lyarra looked down shyly. "I used to take lessons in music with Sansa, but a few years ago, they stopped. I performed in the hall one night and the next day, both Sansa and I's lessons had been cancelled. My sister didn't care - she didn't enjoy practicing, but I loved playing the harp."

When Lyarra looked back, she saw that Lady Sarella was frowning deeply. 

"Why would that happen?"

Lyarra furrowed her eyebrows. "I do not truly know. However, I assume that it had something to do with Lady Stark. She was always displeased when I received too much recognition. I thought that the hall was empty enough that night - as I waited till most of the household had left, but I must have been mistaken."

A fiery fury sparked in Lady Sarella's eyes. 

"That is wrong!" she exclaimed passionately.

"It is the way things are. I am reminder to Lady Stark that my father dishonoured her, and she hates me because of it." Lyarra shrugged. "Anyway, there is a travelling minstrel in the North that would visit Winterfell every few months. Whenever he stayed, he let me borrow his harp for the night and I would take it to one of the abandoned parts of the castle and play. Besides, I could always sing."

Lady Sarella's glare had dampened slightly but she still looked furious. "Nevertheless, it was wrong."

Lyarra shrugged again wryly and they fell into silence. 

"What song was that?" Lady Sarella asked. "It was very dark."

"The Night that Ended," Lyarra answered, smiling minutely. "It tells of the first brothers of the Night's Watch throwing back the White Walkers before they built the wall."

"They must have been very brave men."

Lyarra nodded. "The Night's Watch is a very noble pursuit, especially in the North. If I had been born a boy, I suspect I would have joined them."

Lady Sarella covered one of her hands with her own, looking her in the eye. "I am glad that you are not a boy, then."

Lyarra blushed and looked down at her lap. "Thank you, my lady."

"Call me Sarella."

Lyarra glanced back up, and beamed when she found Sarella smiling warmly back at her. "You can call me Lyarra, then."

Sarella's grin widened. "Of course, Lyarra."

They both turned their eyes to the stars above them and sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. 

Then, Sarella turned back to Lyarra. "Can you sing for me? Something cheerful?"

Lyarra nodded, straightening her back, and started plucking the introduction to 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'.

Sarella was laughing uproariously by the end of the humorous song. Lyarra smiled at her as she leaned a hand against her shoulder, cackling.

Once the Sand Snake had composed herself, she dropped her arm, turning her head so she was looking at the moon, which had reached its apex in the sky.

"We should go to bed."

Lyarra nodded, frowning disappointedly as she stood up, placing the harp where she had found it and extending a hand to the lady beside her. Sarella took it and walked next to her. 

When they reached the cabins, Sarella turned to her. 

"Goodnight Lyarra."

Lyarra smiled. "Goodnight Sarella."

\---

The next day, before they started training, Oberyn invited Lyarra to use his first name, and Daemon and Trystane quickly followed with offers of their own.

That day, only her and Trystane were instructed by Oberyn, with Sarella begging off to read in her cabin and Daemon saying he just wanted to watch. Trystane, to Lyarra's secret pleasure was only slightly better than her, and, by the end of the day, she was besting him more often than not. 

Prince Oberyn seemed almost like he was dancing when he fought, often performing acrobatic manoeuvres to avoid a swipe or to get in under someone's guard. He made Lyarra do hours of balance work, even going so far as to get her to try and stand on her hands for five minutes. By the end of the day, Lyarra was even sorer than before, her limbs feeling as if they were about to fall off. 

The journey continued on like that, with Trystane and Lyarra being schooled by Oberyn, whilst Sarella and Daemon occasionally joined in. Sarella and Lyarra were evenly matched, with Sarella having more experience but Lyarra having more natural talent; just as Sarella being better at sums and writing than her came down to her gift for learning. Daemon, of course, could beat her easily at first, but by the end of trip, he was struggling to get past her guard.

Every night, after bleeding on her egg (the name that she'd dubbed the stone, since it looked so much like one), she would emerge from her cabin to find Sarella already waiting for. Sometimes, she would sing for her, and other times, Sarella would read to her, or they would talk for hours, shoulders brushing against each other as they watched the stars shine in the sky.

\---

They arrived in Tyrosh on their fifth day.

Trystane and Lyarra were fighting together against Oberyn, and it looked like they would win. They had just boxed him into a corner, when Oberyn turned to the wall behind, taking a bounding leap straight at it, actually running up it for a few steps before pushing off it and sailing over their heads, landing behind them. They both turned, but Trystane failed to keep his sword up and was knocked down viciously by Oberyn's spear.

"Dead," he announced sharply and Trystane nodded, rolling back to his feet and taking a step back to join Daemon, who was viewing the fight. 

Lyarra turned her whole attention to Oberyn, rolling to the balls of her feet and getting ready to dodge Oberyn's blows. And dodge she did. She ducked as the spear swung at her face and spun out of the way as he slashed it downwards. She caught the next attack on her sword, deflecting it to the side and lunged forward, stabbing out at him, but he danced back, keeping his spear up so that she couldn’t get inside his guard again. Then, it was Oberyn's turn to advance and Lyarra snapped her sword up to the side of her head, blocking his next blow from hitting her. She shifted Wolf's Bite to one right hand and took another step forward. She immediately felt the strain on her arm. She reached across her body to her right him, and unsheathed Tooth. Her sword arm gave out just as she stabbed at his face. Both blades stopped mere millimetres from their foes. 

Oberyn smiled. "Good."

They stayed like that for a few seconds but broke apart when Sarella ran to the left rail. 

"There! Tyrosh! We have arrived!"


	5. Tyrosh

Daemon Sand steadied her when the deck shook as the Whirlwind docked. 

Dornish soldiers and the crew were rushing around the ship, preparing themselves to spend time on Tyrosh. Oberyn jumped off the ship, completely ignoring the gang plank and Sarella rolled her eyes at her father. 

"Show off!" she called down, only to receive a grin and a mocking bow from her father. 

Trystane offered his arm to his cousin, nodding his head respectfully as he nervously asked her to accompany him onto shore. 

Ser Daemon turned to Lyarra, giving a flourishing bow as he held out his own arm. 

"Would you do me the honour of accompanying me onto land, Lady Snow?"

Lyarra scowled at him, but took his arm, clearing her face into a dreamy smile. 

"I would love to, Ser Daemon."

The knight threw his head back into a jovial laugh. 

"You cannot insult me with my own name, Lyarra. I earnt my title," he informed her. 

Lyarra's scowl returned as they walked onto the dock. Once they were on solid land, Ghost wiggled his way between Daemon and Lyarra, causing the knight to stumble as he was pushed out of the way. 

Lyarra laughed. "What sort of knight are you, to be bested by a pup?"

It was Daemon's turn to scowl as he glared at Ghost, who was staring innocently at him. "This one is barely a pup. And if he is, he's the biggest one I've ever seen."

Lyarra giggled and patted her direwolf's head. 

"What are your plans, now that you're in Tyrosh, Lyarra?" Sarella asked, coming up to her side and rubbing Ghost's head, causing him to nuzzle into her hand. 

Lyarra shrugged. "I will most likely head directly to the Temple of Trios."

"Where are you planning to stay?" Sarella asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"The Temple allows acolytes to board there, doesn't it?"

Oberyn turned to her, frowning. "What is this? You want to go straight to the temple? Unacceptable! I will not hear of you sleeping in some small sandstone room. You will stay with us. I have a house in the city that is not far from the Temple. You can accompany Sarella to classes each day."

Lyarra's face slackened in surprise. "You are too kind, Oberyn. I couldn’t possibly accept."

Oberyn put a hand on her shoulder. "I insist. It will be no trouble at all. And I will feel better knowing that my daughter will have someone watching her back when she travels through the city."

Lyarra bowed her head. "Thank you, your grace."

Oberyn laughed. "None of that now, young pup. We'll get settled tonight and you can accompany my daughter in the morning so you can both join the Guardians together. "

And they did. Oberyn ordered a large meal from the cook he had brought with him and had allowed every person from the Whirlwind's crew to stay in his house. Jaunty tunes filled the air and Lyarra spent most of her night with a smile on her face. 

She had been smiling much more of late, without the weight of her birth hanging over her head.

The next day, Lyarra and Sarella journeyed to the Temple of Trios, with Ghost trailing closely behind them. 

The temple was a huge sandstone structure, with a statue of a giant, three-head man posed with his arms crossed standing out the front, the entrance built into the gap between his legs.

The entrance hall to the temple was brightly lit and bustling with people, about half of whom were dressed in simple grey outfits. Before they even got three steps into the temple, a woman, who looked to be in her mid-forties, with olive skin and coarse, braided hair walked up to them. A bronze badge of a triquetra interwoven with a circle was pinned to her grey dress. 

"New recruits?" she asked, smiling kindly. 

"How did you know?" Sarella asked in a charmingly friendly tone. 

The women just smiled wider and turned. 

"Come with me," she ordered as she led them down a hallway to the left of the entrance hall.

They were told to wait outside of a heavy wooden door for about ten minutes before they could enter.

The room they ended up in was smaller and gloomier than the one they had been in previously, with no windows to provide natural light. Three chairs sat behind a dark wooden table at the centre of the room, and in them sat two women and one man. The woman who had lead them there named them the leaders of the temple. The one in the centre, a woman with dark grey hair and a pin similar to the one worn by the first woman, only silver, and who was introduced as Arch-Guardian Aenaris, nodded to them as they walked in. 

"It seems we have some possible acolytes to assess," she observed, beckoning for them to come forward with a wave of her hand. 

"Do you have any letters of recommendation?" she asked. 

They each unpinned the bound package of letters from their belts and handed them to the people in front of them - a bronze-skinned women with light brown hair for Lyarra and an older man with a shaved head, deep brown skin and golden eyes for Sarella. The two leaders of the temple handed the letters to women in the middle before they simultaneously stood up. �  
"Grandmasters Nestar and Fyllel will assess your capabilities," the old woman said. 

Lyarra and Sarella were each led through a door on the opposite end of the room. The small square room Lyarra was brought into held a small table with a chair on either side. 

The woman sat down on one side and gestured for Lyarra to take the other chair. 

"Good morning," she greeted with a pleasant smile. "My name Helina Fyllel, you may address me as Grandmaster, Grandmistress or Grand-Guardian Fyllel. I'm about to ask you a series of questions that will help determine if you will be accepted into our training program. Do you understand?"

Lyarra nodded and shifted to the edge of her seat.

The kindly woman nodded. "Right, let's get started."

The woman proceeded to unfold a series of scenarios of increasing complication, asking Lyarra what actions she would carry out to help the injured person in each. Once she had gone through three events, she leant back in her chair, her face impassive. 

She continued on by asking her questions about herself. The first were all that Lyarra had expected. She asked about where she grew up, who had taught her thus far, and what resources she had had available to her.

Then, the inquiries became more personal.

"Have you ever had a pet or animal companion?"

Lyarra furrowed her eyebrows but nodded. 

"Do you still have it?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"A direwolf."

At this, Grand-Guardian Fyllel's eyes sparked with interest.

"And what is your relationship with it?"

Lyarra frowned. "He is not my pet, if that is what you mean? But, he follows my commands if he agrees with them ."

The woman leaned forward. "Is there anything else?... Does anything…strange happen around him?"

Lyarra's frown deepened as her mind immediately went to the dreams that she had been having every night. Dreams of running on four legs, of feeling wind ruffle her fur, of blood and muscle giving away under her strong jaw and sharp teeth. But she couldn't tell Grandmistress Fyllel about those, she would sound crazy. 

So, instead, Lyarra answered, "He can understand me uncommonly well and I can always tell when he is hungry or tired or happy."

Fyllel's mouth turned down slightly at the edges but she seemed satisfied. Her eyes flitted to Wolf's Bite, which Lyarra had decided to wear on her back.

"You are willing to fight? To kill?" she asked.

Lyarra nodded. "Aye, Grand-Guardian, I am. But only those who deserve it."

Grandmaster Fyllel cocked her head to the side curiously. "And who do you think deserves to die? You want to become a healer, Lyarra Snow, so what gives you, the authority to take away a life, when you should be saving it?"

Lyarra considered this question carefully before answering, "Aye, Grand Guardian Fyllel, I do want to become a healer, but that does not mean I will not be willing to kill if I must. You are right in that I should not decide the fate of most men, however, there are those that I would not hesitate to battle. Rapists, murderers, those who would harm the defenceless - they are people who deserve to die."

The guardian pursed her lips, her expression unreadable.

"Do you know much about our god, Trios?"

Lyarra's gut churned as she shook her head. "None of the books I have read describe him in much detail."

The woman straightened her back. "The tales of the first and third head of Trios are popular in the Free Cities. It is said that his first head swallows people and that they are rebirthed from the third. This is why us guardians heal; we cannot rebirth people, but we can get close. However, not many know of the purpose of the second head."

The woman leaned forward. "The second head is judgement. It controls the limbs and identifies the innocent, to heal and protect, and decides the guilty, to defend against and kill. For this reason, all of our healers are trained in simple combat. And, if you wish to join the few to earn a triquetra, you must be an accomplished warrior as well as a gifted healer."

Helina Fyllel smiled. "From how comfortable you seem with those weapons, you already have one aspect of becoming a guardian fulfilled."

Lyarra's lips twitched upwards. 

Grand-Guardian Fyllel stood up. "I think we are done here."

Lyarra was left to wait in the hall outside the room with the three chairs. Sarella was already there when she arrived and grasped her hand tightly when Lyarra took the seat next to her. 

"What did they say to you?" she asked, anxiety straining her voice.

Lyarra recounted her meeting with Grandmaster Fyllel and Sarella nodded along. When she got to the part about her weapons, she spoke up.

"Grandmaster Nestar had a similar reaction. He somehow knew I had my scimitar, even though father told me this morning it was perfectly hidden. He only told me that my proficiency would be tested, and if found lacking, I would have to train some more. Then he said that I could keep my weapon, but I wouldn't be allowed to conceal it until I earnt my Healer Circle. He didn't tell me about Trios."

Lyarra shrugged. "Grandmistress Fyllel must be more talkative."

Sarella wrinkled her nose. "Yes, Nestar was quite gruff - I think you got the nicer one."

Lyarra grinned, and patted Sarella's arm with her free hand. "It is alright, Sand, apparently it only takes about six months to earn your circle, anyway, if you've had prior healer training. Then you can go back to your cunning ways."

Sarella's answering smile was sharp, but her voice was good-natured as she responded, "Not all of us need to carry around weapons too big to hide, Snow."

Lyarra shrugged. "True."

They were called back into the room ten minutes later, and then they were standing, side by side, in front of the three leaders of the temple. Grandmaster Nestar's expression was sternly impassive, contrasted greatly by Grandmaster Fyllel's kindly smile whilst Archmaster Aenaris's face was perfect, pleasantly blank, balance between them. 

Lyarra's stomach twisted and her hand itched to hold Sarella's again. She didn't feel as sick when she did.

"You are very impressive candidates, seen both from your interviews and the letters you have provided us," Archmistress Aenaris stated, her facing breaking into an approving smile. "This alone would earn you a place amongst our ranks as acolytes. However, your apparent proficiency in weaponry and your firm ethics have shown us a promise will make us doubly glad to accept you."

Lyarra's heart leapt as the Arch-Guardian went on. "Welcome to the Temple of Trios, acolytes. I expect great things from you."

\---

As soon as they left the Temple, Sarella swept Lyarra up into a crushing hug, lifting the shorter woman up in her enthusiasm. 

"We made it!" she exclaimed as Lyarra laughed. 

She put her down and pulled away, but still grasped her arms. 

"We must celebrate! Tomorrow, we start our studies as healers, but tonight, we rejoice!"

She started leading Lyarra through the city, weaving through people. 

"Let us tell, Father! He said he would wait until we returned, before he brought Trystane to the market where the sellsword companies congregate."

When they returned to Oberyn's house, Ghost jumped on her excitedly, sensing her enthusiasm. 

"I assume you were both accepted?" Oberyn asked as he entered the room. 

Sarella nodded enthusiastically before receiving a warm hug from her father. Oberyn grinned. "This is amazing! Come! I will buy us lunch whilst Trystane and Daemon joins the Long Lances."

\---

The Dornish party was loud as it travelled through the city, guards staying on guard, but laughing and talking easily whilst their charges walked on. 

Sarella was talking excitedly with Daemon and Oberyn, her words pouring out of her as she excitedly speculated about the vast well of knowledge she was about to have access to. Lyarra watched on silently, smiling as she gently ran her hand through the fur on Ghost's head. 

They were about half way to the markets, when she felt Ghost's head hit her thigh. She glanced down at him, and slowed down. Frowning, she matched his pace, pulling back from the animated group in front of her. 

When she looked back up, she found that she was now walking beside Trystane, who was ambling a few metres behind his cousin, uncle and friend. 

"Are you alright?"

Trystane jerked his head in surprise and his head swung wildly around to face her. 

"Oh! Umm…" 

He grimaced as he stumbled for an answer.

"What's wrong?" Lyarra asked, placing a hand gently on his arm.

Trystane reddened and looked down at the ground. 

"I…I'm scared."

Lyarra gripped his arm. "You don't have to worry. Daemon won't let anything happen to you. Neither will Oberyn."

Trystane shook his head. "It's not that…"

He swallowed anxiously, hesitating before answering. 

"I'm not very good at fighting. I know that. The Long Lances will accept me because of Oberyn, but what if I fail them? What if I falter when I'm needed most." 

Lyarra stopped walking and turned to face him, gripping his arms tightly. 

"Do not doubt yourself, Tyrstane. You are better than you think. Most of the time, you only falter or fail when you overthink things. Trust in your skills. You are a good fighter and you have a steady head. And, most importantly, you have a good heart. Stay true to these things, and you'll do well."

Trystane looked at her, wide eyed. 

"What's happening back there?" 

Both of them jumped, glancing up the street towards Oberyn, who had stopped walking, alongside Sarella and Daemon.

"Nothing, Oberyn. The prince here was just congratulating me for being accepted into the Guardians."

She released Trystane's arm and sped up to join them. This time, Trystane followed.

When they arrived at the markets, Oberyn, Daemon and Trystane headed straight for the sellsword area, whilst Sarella and Lyarra peeled off from them to wander around and look at the many wares sold there. 

"What are you plans for tonight?" Sarella asked, as they passed a line of stores selling spices. 

"I do not know. Perhaps I will read. Some of the titles in your father's library seemed very interesting. What are your plans?"

Sarella glanced upwards, contemplating her options. "I have not decided yet. I may visit one of the pleasure houses in the city. They are not famed like the ones in Lyse, but sex is sex."

Lyarra stopped walking, shocked.

Sarella turned to her raising her eyebrows. "Oh? Would you care to join me?"

Lyarra's cheeks reddened as she shook her head. "I will not mother any bastards."

Sarella smiled slyly. "Who said anything about fucking men? Engaging with women does not get you pregnant."

"Women?"

Sarella frowned. "Is that sinful in the North. I know it is in the South, but Dorne does not care who you fuck, as long as they want to do it with you."

Lyarra shook her head. "No. There have been instances and stories of men loving men and women loving women…I just never considered it."

Sarella hooked her arm in hers. "Well, you should. You won't have to worry about mothering any bastards. And women are amazing at sex, far better than men."

Lyarra blushed again and hid her face behind her hair.

Sarella scoffed. "Are all Northerners as prudish and dour as you are? I do not think I have heard you make a joke."

Lyarra crossed her arms. "I have laughed more in the past week than I have in years."

Sarella jerked back at that statement, relaxing into a fond smile as she placed a hand on Lyarra's shoulder and steering her back through the market. 

"I am glad to hear that."

\---

When they finally made their way to the area of the markets where the sellswords resided, Oberyn, Tyrstane and Daemon were standing around a pit, inside which a group of men were fighting.

"How did it go?" Sarella asked Daemon as her and Lyarra drew to a stop beside them. 

Daemon leaned closer to them as he muttered, "He was a bit nervous, but he did well. He beat down all but one of them men they brought out to test him."

"So he got in?" Lyarra asked. 

Daemon scoffed, but grinned. "That was never up for debate. But no can could question that he earnt his place, not bought it."

"What are you doing here?" Sarella asked. 

Oberyn heard this question and glanced over at them. 

"Two of the guards have just received letters on the latest ship telling them that their wives' are pregnant. I would rather send them back as soon as possible, than wait for replacements to arrive. Thus, I am here at the fighting pit, to see if there is someone I can employ here."

As they turned their attention back to the battle, Daemon leaned over to Lyarra and explained, "The sellsword fighting pits, unlike the slave ones, are where sellswords not indentured to a company fight to show their skills to possible employers."

Lyarra nodded, shooting him a gracious grin, before focusing her attention on the men below her. 

It was hard to focus on one man with so many fighting in such a small space. However, after a few minutes, when most of the men had been knocked out or had yielded, Lyarra could see who the superior fighters were.

Two men were back to back, carving through their opponents like butter. Eventually, people stopped approaching them and they had to advance on the few stragglers left. They didn't have to wait another thirty seconds before the fight was over and the two armoured men took off their helmets, revealing a tall, lean man with honey-brown hair and deep indigo eyes that stood out so prominently that Lyarra could see them from where she was standing, and a slightly shorter, stockier man with dirt-brown hair, pausing to receive their adulation for only moments before they left the field. 

Oberyn immediately started walking.

"Them?" Daemon asked as he hurried to catch up. 

"Those are some of the best fighters I've seen in years. They're a hell of a lot better than any sellsword I've very seen. They might even be better than me. If they can't protect us, we are going to die anyway."

The two men were surrounded by a crowd of people by the time they got there. 

It looked as if a riot was going to start before the shorter one yelled, "Alright now, get in a line. We'll listen to all of you one at a time."

There was some jostling for the front, but people listened, either not wanting to risk losing a chance at employing the two phenomenal fighters, or not wanting to anger the men who had just shown exactly how deadly they are.

"Why would they choose us?" Lyarra asked, looking around at the others who were waiting in line. 

Many of them were dripping in fine silks and jewels. "Surely someone will offer them more money than we will?"

Oberyn shrugged. "There are many reasons, young pup. They might not like the circumstances the other jobs give them. From the looks of their armour, they aren't exactly pressed for money, and a job as a household guard is very comfortable, as sellsword jobs go. Or they might like being able to say they worked for a prince."

The shorter man's eyes glinted with interest when they got to the front of the line.

"What do we have here?"

Oberyn bowed deeply. 

"I am Prince Oberyn Martell, of Dorne. With me is my nephew, Prince Trystane Martell, my daughter, Sarella Sand and Ser Daemon Sand."

He took a half step back to put a hand on Lyarra's shoulder. "And this fine girl is Lyarra Snow, of Winterfell."

At this, the taller, purple-eyed man, who had remained stonily impassive throughout all of the previous encounter, inclined his head forward, eyes widening.

"Winterfell?" he asked. 

Lyarra nodded and Daemon took a step next to Ghost, to flank Lyarra's side. 

"What's it to you?" he asked hostilely.

The shorter night put a hand on his friends arm. "He didn't mean any harm by it."

Purple-Eyes was quick to agree, "I have always wanted to see the North."

Daemon shot him a hard stare, but backed down.

The shorter man turned to Oberyn. "A Dornish Prince, you say?"

Oberyn nodded. 

The two men glanced at each other, before the shorter one gave a nod. "We'll work for you, then. We've never worked for a prince before."

Oberyn grinned and clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Do you need to pick up anything before we go, or…?"

The taller one shook his head. "We will have our things delivered tomorrow."

Oberyn nodded. "Good. One more thing - what are your names?"

The shorter one answered, "I'm Os Wayne and he's Art Dent."

As they walked back to the house, Lyarra fell in line with the two sellswords. 

"So you're from Westeros?" she asked.

Both men gave grunts of surprise before the tall one nodded. 

"Where are you from?"

"Maidenpool," Os groused out.

Lyarra nodded as Sarella dropped back to join them. 

"So how do two soldiers from Maidenpool end up as sellswords in Tyrosh?" the Sand Snake asked. 

Art rolled his shoulders. "We're good at fighting, but not much else. When the rebellion ended, we went East to find more people we could fight."

They fell into silence for a few moments before Os cleared his throat. 

"Nice wolf, you got there."

"He's a direwolf," Lyarra claimed. 

"Whoever told you that was lying, girlie," Os replied, only to be shoved by Art.

Lyarra smiled slightly. "He's only just over six months old."

That gave Os pause as he stared at Ghost, who was now the size of a large dog.

Art cracked the first smile she'd seen him make at his friend's incredulity. 

"Come now, we have a house to guard. And try not to piss off any direwolves on the way over."

The dinner that night was almost as large as a feast. The crew of the Whirlwind were due to leave sometime the next day, and they were more rowdy than normal as they said their goodbyes to the Dornish. 

Lyarra bestowed a small, carved copy of the Whirlwind on Captain Barner, who was apparently not just a Captain, but a Commander of a small fleet of trading vessels that were docked in Braavos. She also gave a gift to Emmerson - a thin wooden bracelet in the shape of a sword.

At one point, she saw Oberyn lead Os and Art out of the room, all of their places drawn and tense. When they re-entered, they're faces were still set in scowls, but their shoulders had relaxed. Lyarra supposed no one was happy with the price they had worked out, but she also supposed that that meant that it was probably a fair price.

Lyarra headed up to the roof as the night drew to a close. She was wearing a dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves that she'd bought at the market. It was made of thinner material than any dress she'd ever owned and still she felt too warm. 

"Are you not cold? You are not even wearing a cloak."

Lyarra turned to find Sarella walking towards her, book in hand. They both leaned on the railing of the roof. 

"I thought you were visiting a brothel?"

Sarella shrugged. "I wasn't in the mood after all."

Lyarra glanced down at the thick book in Sarella's hand. "What's it about?"

"It's a history of Tyrosh - it has a chapter on the Temple."

Lyarra flounced over to one of the cushioned chairs on the roof and draped herself across it. 

"Read to me?" she asked. 

Sarella smiled and sat down next to her. "Of course, my lady."


	6. Out of the Frying Pan...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get interesting.

The next day, Lyarra, wearing a grey dress (which was one of the four outfits - two dresses and two sets of pants and tops - the Guardians had provided her with the day prior), entered the Temple of Trios with Sarella and Ghost at her side at the exact time they had requested her to come the previous day.

The woman who had led them to the Archmaster yesterday met them. She introduced herself as Mistress Irnyr and sent them both off in different directions, each with a Healer to train them. 

The girl Lyarra had been assigned to wasn't much older than Lyarra herself, with tan skin and straight, dark brown hair. She was wearing the same grey dress as her, only with a black circle pin stuck to her robes, which showed she had passed her healer training but had not taken the combat courses to become a guardian. She barely flinched at the sight of Ghost. 

"My name is Talisa Maegyr. I will be your mentor for the next few weeks. If you have any issues come to me," she told Lyarra with a small smile. 

Lyarra nodded as they walked down the hall. 

"You do not pay for your education here with money, but you will contribute to the temple by doing chores. You will have two hours of duties every day, one first thing in the morning and another the last thing before you sleep. These will include anything from sterilising a room, to cleaning clothes, to making food for our patients."

"Yes Healer Maegyr," Lyarra replied and the healer's lips twitched upwards.

"Once you earn your Healer or Guardian Circle, the temple will start paying you."

"How do they find the money?"�  
Healer Maegyr's smile widened. "We do not charge the destitute for their healing, but those who can pay for treatment do. Also, a portion of the taxes in Tyrosh go to the temple to keep it running."

They stopped outside a room and Healer Maegyr opened the door. 

"This is my room. If you need me, leave a note here."

Lyarra glimpsed inside the room and the first thing she saw was a harp, set on a chair in the corner.

"You play?" she asked.

Healer Maegyr wrinkled her nose. "Yes, but I do not enjoy it."

Lyarra's shoulders fell slightly. "Oh."

Healer Maegyr glanced at her. "Do you play?"

Lyarra shrugged. "I like playing, but I am not very good. I have not had a lesson in years."

Healer Maegyr seemed to soften at that. "Well we can't have that now. You, loving music but without the skill to perform it, and me, hating to play and having years of lessons."

She rubbed Lyarra's shoulder. 

"Come here during your lunch hour and I'll teach you a little."

Lyarra bowed her head. "Thank you, Healer Maegyr."

The healer patted her shoulder. "Go on, you don't want to be late for your first class."

The first classes had her relearning how to bandage and clean wounds, which she had already learnt with Maester Luwin, although, they had used generally used different types of alcohol, and did not also implement seawater. 

During her lunch period, she did go to see Healer Maegyr, who asked her to play for her. Lyarra carefully took her instrument and started to play Rains of Castamere, the first song that came to mind. It had been stuck in her head ever since they left King's Landing, since both the Lannister shoulders had seemed to sing it constantly and because the Queen loved having it played for her. She blushed when her fingers stumbled through a couple through a few notes and blushed when some of the notes came out stunted, instead of ringing like they should.

When she was done, Healer Maegyr clapped, and pronounced her singing to be 'brilliant', and said that her playing wasn't bad but needed some technical help. She told her that, if she wanted to improve, Lyarra would come to her rooms after her evening chores and play with her for an hour.

Lyarra anxiously told Sarella this, telling her friend that it would be alright if she went home without Lyarra, but Sarella merely shrugged and said she would spend that extra hour in the temple's library. 

The next classes were more useful to Lyarra as they were taught how to mix together herbs to make healing ointments and potions, which was a subject Maester Luwin had not covered in detail with her besides teaching her how to adminster Milk of the Poppy and Essence of Nightshade. 

That night, when they got back to the house, Os and Art were in the entrance hall.

"Oi, girl," Os called with a nod. "Do you know how to use that sword your carrying?"

Both of them turned. 

"Are you asking her or are you asking me?" Sarella asked, a deadly smile on your face.

"He is talking to Lady Snow, surely. I have seen how they train women in Dorne. I have no doubt you know how to use your weapon," Art replied. 

Sarella shrugged, and glanced at Lyarra, allowing her to answer for herself. 

Lyarra straightened her back and lifted her chin in the same ways she'd so often seen Sansa do it. "Aye, I know how to use it."

Os's eyes shone with humour. "We'd like to test that."

Lyarra cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows.

"Our shift ends in a half hour, meet us in the yard," Art ordered. 

Lyarra frowned, unsure of whether to accept, but Sarella spoke before she could. "She'll be there."

Sarella grabbed her arm and pulled her away, head held high. 

"Why did you do that?" Lyarra hissed as they strode away. 

"I learnt long ago that men will not respect you unless you show them that you should be respected."

Lyarra frowned. "But I will lose."

"Yes, but you will show them that you are good for your age. Especially for a girl. And, if you are lucky, you will learn something from fighting them."

\---

She entered the courtyard, dressed in brown pants and a tunic with a leather breastplate borrowed from Sarella. 

Art stepped forward, withdrawing his sword fluidly. Lyarra did the same, although, she admitted to herself, far more awkwardly. 

Art attacked first, raining down a series of blows on her that Lyarra only barely dodged. She moved as fast as she could, not having time to employ any of the acrobatics that Oberyn had taught her. But, she was glad for his help in the last week, as the swiftness he'd taught her came into good use. It was barely twenty seconds when Art aimed a blow her way that she could not dodge. She caught it on her sword and felt pain lace up her arm. He tried to move out of the way of the next slash, but ended up having to block it again, and her sword was wrenched out of her hand by the force of the blow. 

Art's sword was aimed at her throat not a moment later. 

"I yield," Lyarra announced, put out by how easily she had been defeated. 

Os took a step forward from where he had been leaning against a wall next to Sarella. 

"Not bad," he said and Art nodded in agreement. 

"Your better than I expected."

Lyarra shrugged. "Thank you, but better does not make me any less dead in a fight."

Art's lip twitched and he shook his head. "You're right."

He looked at her. "So I will make sure you will win."

Lyarra furrowed her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"We cannot have a little girl roaming through streets filled with sellswords unable to defend herself," Os explained. "So we will make sure you can kill whoever wants to harm you."

Lyarra mulled over the words for a few moments, before she let a small smile appear on her face. "Alright."

\---

Life went on. 

Lyarra woke at ungodly hours to train with Art and Os before she went to the temple with Sarella. She did her chores, she learned more than she could have ever thought she would about how to heal a person, how to make their go pain away and how to bring them back from the brink of death. Then, in a contrast that was shocking and humbling at the same time, she returned to her chores. She learnt the harp from Healer Maegyr, who soon asked her to call her Talisa, and she went back to the house and trained with Art and Os again. 

They drilled her until she mastered the sword, and then they taught her how to fight with a spear, with different shaped blades, with a whip. And then Art showed her how to fight with two swords. And at night, after spending time talking with Trystane, verbally sparring with Daemon and Oberyn, and reading or singing with Sarella, she bled on her egg and she curled up into bed where she dreamed of running through the streets, of swimming through the water and catching fish between her teeth, where she dreamed of watching herself rest and snarling silently at those who wished to disturb her mistress. 

In the morning, Ghost would wake her with a lick and she would start her routine again. 

After six months of studying at the Temple of Trios, Sarella and Lyarra were ready to earn their circles, just as planned. 

The Archmaster herself pinned copper Guardian Circles to their grey dresses and allowed them the rest of the day off to celebrate. Oberyn brought them to a dining establishment in the city, where Ghost was given a large leg of ram meat and they were served dishes with spices and sauces that were richer than any food Lyarra had eaten in the North. At one point, she tasted a dish that sent fire racing up her tongue and down her throat and she excused herself to walk off the pain to uproarious laughter from everyone around the table. 

She stumbled into an alley beside the dining establishment and pressed her head against the wall, drawing in deep lungfulls of air and drowning her tongue with water as the heat slowly evaporated from her mouth. 

The sounds of two heavy footsteps coming towards her had Lyarra straightening again. She found two heavily armed men strolling down the alley. 

"Well, what do we have here?" the blonde one asked. "A little girl all by her lonesome."

"Walk away," Lyarra commanded reaching behind her back and realising too late that she had left Wolf's Bite at the table. 

The black haired one smiled. "I don't think we will, little girl."

He rushed at her pushing her up against the wall, leaving her legs to kick out uselessly as her head cracked against the stone sickeningly. She gave a strangled cry and he pushed his hand against her mouth. The disgusting scent of his sweat and blood he hadn't properly washed off himself filled her nose. He pressed his body up against hers and Lyarra felt tears come to her eyes. His free hand reached for her breast and that was when her mind finally started working. 

Her right hand fumbled for Tooth, clumsily pulled it from her belt. She jerked her arm up and thrust forwards, stabbing the blade into the man's eye. He stumbled backwards with a scream, falling to the ground. 

The blonde man snarled drawing his sword. "You'll pay for that, little girl. You should have just taken it."

Lyarra relaxed. She didn't know how, but she could feel something loping towards her, racing to the mouth of the alleyway. 

She quirked her lip. "I don't think I will."

The man didn't even have time to look shocked before he was pushed to the ground with a strangled grunt and Ghost was sinking his teeth into his neck. 

Not a moment later, Oberyn, Sarella, Art and Os poured into the alley, Trystane and Daemon not far behind. All of them had weapons in their hands.

Sarella looked, wide-eyed between the two men on the ground, one still being eaten by Ghost, and Lyarra. 

She sheathed her scimitar and strode over to Lyarra, wrapping her in a tight embrace. 

Lyarra squeezed her back, shaking as she felt tears stream down her face. 

"It's alright," Sarella assured her, rubbing her back. "They're dead. They can't hurt you anymore."

Lyarra heard a squelching noise and opened her eyes to see Os withdrawing his sword from the black-haired man's head. 

"They're dead now," he amended grimly. 

Art reached down and pulled Tooth out of the man's eyes socket, cleaning it off before handing it back to her, whilst Oberyn knelt down beside the body.

"They're from the Brave Companions." He stood, taking they're swords. "I will take these to their Commander and tell them what they have done."

"Will he be angry?" Lyarra asked.

Oberyn shook his head, giving a bitter bark of laughter. "No. He may not stop his men from doing what they like. But he doesn't care if they get killed for it either."

Art shifted angrily whilst Os scowled and kicked the brunette's body.

Oberyn's turned to them. "Take the lady to the Temple of Trios. Have them check her head wound. Daemon, Trystane, come with me."

Art and Os kept their swords drawn the entire way to the temple. A Healer there put ointment on her head, which had already stopped bleeding and gave her a poultice for her bruises, which Lyarra must have made a thousand times before. As they handed the jar to her, she numbly wondered if it was one of her concoctions.

She was numb the entire way back. Her heart barely felt like it was beating, even as she washed herself. She scrubbed at her hands, trying to get the blood off them, even though it had been washed off hours ago. She glanced up into the mirror and frowned, eyebrows furrowed. Her face was gaunt and paler than usual, just as she'd expected it to be, but there was something strange about her eyes, which looked to be lighter than before. She picked up a few strands of hair, seeing that they seemed to have turned white, but only near the ends. 

Maybe the stress had changed the colour of her hair. She'd heard of it happening. A cold fury swept over her and she tore the strands out, gritting her teeth as she did. She heard Ghost shift from where he was lying on her bed. She turned and walked back to him, placing a hand on his head. 

"They won't get me, boy. You made sure of that."

There was a knock on her door and she called for whoever it was to come in, expecting to see Sarella. However, it was Trystane who entered the room.

"Trystane," she said. "What a pleasant surprise."

Trystane took a moment to reply. "I just wanted to check on you. To see if you are alright."

Lyarra shrugged. "I am healed."

The side of Trystane's mouth lifted up, before it turned into a sad, troubled frown. 

"You know you can come to me if you need to talk."

Lyarra was shocked into silence for a few moments before she nodded. "Aye, I do."

He took a step towards her and it took all of Lyarra's restraint not to flinch. 

"I never thanked you," he said. "For helping me all those months ago. I don't think I would have been able to lift my sword properly if you hadn't talked to me."

He gently touched her arm. 

"You are as fierce as any wolf," he told her. "Remember that."

Lyarra managed a small. "Thank you, Trystane."

He squeezed her arm softly, before heading back towards the door.

"Goodnight Lyarra."

"Goodnight Trystane."

Lyarra sat on her bed and pet Ghost as they left.

A few minutes later, there was another knock.

Lyarra sighed. "Come in."

It was Daemon who opened the door this time. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, walking up to her.

Lyarra looked down. "Yes."

"Liar."

Her head snapped back up, eyes wide. 

"You are not fine," he told her. 

Abruptly, tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. "No. I'm not."

He stayed quiet.

She swallowed. "I felt powerless again. Like a little girl not allowed to take music lessons with her sister because her father's wife despises her."

Her throat closed up. "They would have killed me. I didn't even have my sword to fight them."

Daemon gently took her hand. 

"But they didn't," he said, looking deeply into her eyes. "Ghost was there. And you won't be leaving Wolf's Bite behind ever again."

"No. I won't be."

Daemon smiled at her before taking a step back and bowing. "Goodnight, my lady."

Lyarra nodded her head. "Goodnight, ser."

Lyarra got ready for bed, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the salty coppery scent of the man filled her nose and she felt her back being pushed against the wall.

She opened her eyes again for what felt like the millionth time to find Ghost staring at her, red eyes peering at her questioningly. She got out of bed, gathering Wolf Bite from the corner and pulling Tooth from where it rested under her pillow, her hand grasping Ghost's fur as they exited the room. 

She found Art standing vigil outside her door. His head turned to her, eyebrows rising in surprise. 

"What are you doing out, my lady?" 

"I couldn't sleep. What are you doing here?"

"Guarding your door. Os and I do it every night."

"Really?" Lyarra asked. 

Art nodded. "There is a guard outside everyone of importance's door."

Lyarra blushed, a warm happiness sparking in her belly. She didn’t know that she was important enough to merit guards. 

"Well, I'm going to go to Sarella's room, so I guess you can have the night off."

Art considered her words but shook his head. "I will accompany you, my lady."

Lyarra swallowed, hating how much safer that made her feel. "Thank you."

Art just inclined his head and allowed her to lead the way. 

Sarella was lying in bed, reading when she beckoned Lyarra into her room. She furrowed her eyes. 

"What's wrong, Lya?" 

"I can't sleep," Lyarra whispered, tears once again coming to her eyes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Sarella smiled sadly and nodded. "I was just about to put my book down anyway."

She reached across and pulled down the covers on the other side of her bed, gesturing her to get in. She placed a piece of paper in her book to mark her page and set it down on her nightstand. Finally, she blew out her candle before turning to face Lyarra, snuggling into her pillow as she wrapped the Northern girl in a comforting embrace. 

When she spoke, Lyarra could feel the breath on her face. "Goodnight, Direwolf."

Lyarra closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Sand Snake."

\---

Time went on. 

Lya's time at the temple continued much the same as before. She still had to complete chores and she still took classes and she still learnt harp from Talisa. However, now she also treated patients and was payed, and payed well; better than she expected to be. But, she conceded, rich people would give up a lot of gold to be healed. 

She also continued training with Art and Os, only now, they pushed her even harder than before, extending their evening training session to two hours and pushing her body to the limit. Ghost had taken to accompanying her everywhere. If she wasn't in the house, there was barely a moment when he wasn't by her side. 

For the next few weeks she joined Sarella in her bed. The Dornish woman sometimes had to shake her out of nightmares and would hold her until she had found sleep again. Eventually, though, Lyarra felt safe again, but she still occasionally went to Sarella, or Sarella would come to her. 

Two months after she became a healer, Talisa asked Lyarra to stay a little longer after her lesson.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she told Lyarra. 

Lyarra blinked. "What? Why?"

Talisa sighed. "Many years ago, I promised myself that I would become a healer and that I would never live in a place that had slavery again. I am now a healer, and have learnt all I want to from the Temple, so I must move to a place that does not have slavery."

Lyarra's heart clenched, but she nodded. "I understand."

Talisa picked up her harp and held it out. "This is for you."

Lyarra's mouth dropped open and she shook her head. "I can't accept this."

Talisa smiled and pushed into her hands. "I insist. I've always hated the thing and I only still have it because my mother made me take it."

Lyarra's heart soared as she took the beautiful silver instrument. "Thank you."

Talisa smiled. "It'll do well with you. You're even better than me now."

They shared a short, but tight embrace before Lyarra hurried out of the room.

\---

The next day was Lyarra and Sarella's day off. Sarella had planned to spend the day in Oberyn's library, whilst Lyarra, after stopping at the docks to press a pendant depicting a three-headed woman into Talisa's hands, allowed herself to be led to the sellsword area of the markets by Art and Os.

They pulled her up to where a group of the Long Lances were training. Daemon, Trystane and Oberyn were already there, standing around an area where a few of the younger recruits were sparring. 

"What have we got here?" Oberyn asked, a good natured smile on his face. 

"We wanted to see if anyone wanted to try their hand against Lady Lyarra here," Art explained. 

One particularly brutish boy rolled his eyes at that. "Her? I would snap her like a twig."

Lyarra glanced back at Art, who gave a solemn nod, before turning back to the boy, raising her chin. 

"Why don't you fight me and find out?"

The boy scoffed. "You won't last one minute."

Lyarra unsheathed Wolf's Bite. "Then you have nothing to lose."

The boy glanced at the recruits around him, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. He scowled and picked up a short, jagged sword from where it lay on the ground. 

"Don't complain when I make you cry," he growled.

Lyarra only smiled at him, squaring her shoulders and setting her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trystane and Daemon take a step back, identical grins on their faces. 

As usual, Lyarra allowed her opponent to make the first move, easily sidestepping his wild swipe.

"Get him, Lass," Os called out.

She blocked the boy's next blow, deflecting sideways as she stepped inside his guard. She crouched, kicking out at his legs in a sweeping blow that had him falling to the ground. He let go of his sword as he dropped and Lyarra kicked it away, before aiming Wolf's Bite at his face.

"Yield…I yield," he gasped out. 

Lyarra smiled sharply and stepped away. 

"It seems it was you who didn't last a minute," she observed, causing every recruit around her to laugh. 

"My lady."

Lyarra looked up to find Art staring at her sternly. 

"Help him up," he ordered. 

Lyarra frowned. "Why?"

"It is the honourable thing to do."

Lyarra grimaced, remembering everything her father had taught her. She bent down and offered a hand to the boy, who scowled, but took it. 

"I'd wager this boy has had even less training than you have," Art observed, inclining his head towards him.

"How long have you been training, boy?" Art asked. 

"Seven months," he answered, looking at his feet. 

"And what did you do before that?" 

The boy rubbed his arm. "I washed dishes."

Art raised his eyebrows at Lyarra and she frowned, feeling guilt well up inside her. 

Os scowled. "Alright, you've made your point. There are many who have it worse than the young lady, but the boy didn't have to be prick."

"And you wouldn't have acted just the same at that age?"

Os narrowed his eyes but grunted. 

Before the fight could go on, Trystane took a step forward. 

"Does anyone else want to challenge Lady Lyarra?"

A few of the more experienced recruits stepped up and Lyarra beat them. Then, some older members of the company began to take interest and he won against most of them, only yielding to a handful. By the end of the day, the men were looking at her with a mixture of fear and respect. 

Os leaned towards her on their way home and muttered with a grin, "They'll tell stories about the girl with the wolf sword when they're in their cups. Trust me, there won't be anymore sellswords bothering you."

\---

It was a few months later when Lyarra found herself travelling outside the city limits to a rickety, two story house. A farm man had been trampled by a horse and his family was unable to carry him to the temple. She had left Ghost at the house as she didn't want to scare the family.

"This isn't our real house," his young daughter told Lyarra as she treated his wounds from the second story of the building.

"We only have this here so we can check our crops. Our real house is miles away."

Lyarra nodded along as the girl - Nessa - chattered, frowning when she felt the man's head and found that his temperature had skyrocketed. Her heart twinged as she looked up and down his mangled body. The man hadn't woken up in three days. He probably wouldn't again. 

Lyarra only caught the tail end of what Nessa was saying.

"Anyway, that's why I love my necklace. Do you have anything precious you really love?"

Lyarra's mind immediately went to Wolf's Bite and Tooth, but she knew the girl wouldn't appreciate that. 

"I have a big, beautiful stone," she told Nessa. "It's a deep purple with shining blue dots all over it."

The girl sighed. "It sounds amazing. I wish I could see it."

Lyarras smiled slightly. "I'll bring it with me tomorrow."

She started to pack her things, putting them into her temple-issued satchel.

"Guardian Lyarra?" Nessa asked as Lyarra was leaving the room.

"Yes, my darling?"

"Will my father get better?"

Lyarra frowned, but found herself unable to tell the girl the truth. "I'll see if I can get a High Guardian to come out and see him."

Nessa grinned and gave Lyarra a tight hug before allowing her to depart. 

\---

The next day, Lyarra brought her egg with her to show to Nessa. The wind was strong and Oberyn had told her that it was likely a sand storm might start. Nevertheless, Lyarra set off to check on the farm man in the evening.

She placed it on the farm man's bedside table and Nessa stared at it, wide eyed. 

"It's so pretty!" she exclaimed. 

"Can I touch it?" 

Lyarra nodded and the girl reached out. However, as soon as her hand made contact with the stone, she shrieked drawing it into her chest. 

"It burnt me!" Nessa cried out. 

Lyarra frowned and walked around the bed towards her, taking Nessa's palm in her hand. Imprinted there were angry red marks in the shape of scales. She pressed her own hand to the stone, and only found it pleasantly warm. 

"That's strange," she remarked. 

Suddenly, a large gust of wind racked the house, shaking the very foundations and causing many things to fall over. Including all the candles as well as the brazier holding burning logs, causing flames to burst to life all over the room. 

Nessa screamed as fire engulfed the room. Lyarra turned to her, taking her hand, meaning to lead her towards the stairs. However, a cracking echoed around the room and the floor in front of her gave way. Nessa screamed again, tears streaming down her face. 

Lyarra crouched and grasped her head in her hands. 

"Nessa, look at me! You're going to make it out of here. You hear me?"

The girl nodded, tears slowing. Lyarra lifted her up by the armpits and threw her with all her might across the chasm. Nessa landed in a heap, but the floor did not give out from under. 

Just as Lyarra was about to make her own jump, more floor fell away between them. 

"Guardian!" Nessa cried out jumping to her feet.

"Go!" Lyarra ordered. 

Stumbling, the girl turned and rushed out of the room. 

Lyarra glanced around frantically, looking for a way out. Her heart rate skyrocketed when she found none, before a soothing calmness swept over her. Lyarra walked back to the bed side table and picked up her egg, hugging it as the house collapsed around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.
> 
> So I did NOT think that this would take so long to get here.
> 
> Honestly, I have mostly created this fic for the sequal I will eventually make which will be based off the fanfic, The Raven's Plan.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this fic.


	7. Actually, Fire isn't that Bad

Sarella practically threw herself off her horse. 

A little girl had rushed into the temple screaming that her house had just burnt down, with Lyarra in it and Sarella had rushed home and thrown herself on a horse as soon as she could, with Art and Os not far behind.

"Lyarra!" she screamed as she stepped onto the blackened land. 

She heard Art and Os drop down behind her whilst the thunder of hooves in distance heralded her father, Trystane and Daemon. 

Os sighed and Art was expressing more emotion than she'd ever seen him do before. His eyes held pure anguish as he ran forward into the burnt ruins of the house. 

Os patted her shoulder. "Let's go see if there's a body to bury."

They were only searching for a few minutes when they heard a shifting from in the middle of the black char. 

Sarella heard the thud of the rest of the Dornish dismounting, but payed them no mind as she walked numbly towards the moving rubble. 

Os, Art and Sarella all came to a stop, just as the ashes cleared away revealing a white body and a head of black hair. 

"L-Lyarra?" Sarella stuttered, falling to her knees. 

The girl raised her head, revealing the beautiful face she had gotten to know so well.

Before she could even begin to decide how to react, however, something moved in Lyarra's lap. 

Sarella gasped as a tiny, deep blue dragon with shiny purple scales dotted over its skin and emerald green eyes unfolded its wings, squawking quietly. 

Sarella didn't know how to react, but Art and Os apparently did, unsheathing their swords and kneeling as they planted them in the ground, bowing their heads.

"My queen," they announced. 

\---

Lyarra stared at everything around her, her mind unable to make sense of what was happening. 

She should be dead. 

"What is happening here?" Oberyn asked, walking up to him with his spear in hand. 

He stopped when he saw Lyarra sitting there.

No one moved, frozen in shock, until Trystane quickly removed the golden cloak he was wearing and hurried forwards, draping it around Lyarra's shoulders. 

She nodded at him gratefully. Ghost trotting up to nuzzle her from where he had been standing by the Dornish horses seemed to break the silence. 

Everyone started asking questions all at once. They swirled around Lyarra, choking her and making her feel dizzy as she tried to listen to them. Suddenly, the dragon in her lap shrieked, silencing them once again.

"I don't know what happened," Lyarra admitted. "I don't know why I'm alive. Why I now have this…"

Oberyn's head swivelled wildly to Art and Os. 

"You," he accused. "You knew!"

Art stood nodding his head. "We did."

Lyarra looked up at him, eyes furrowed. "Knew what?"

Art looked down at her as Os stood, leaning down to help her to her feet. She leaned into Ghost, who's head now reached her shoulder, for support. They both bowed their heads. 

"Forgive me, your grace," Art said. "There is much to tell you."

Lyarra frowned. "Then tell me! And what is all this your grace business? I am a Snow, not a princess."

Os shook his head. "No, you're not a princess. But you're not a Snow either. You're a queen."

Lyarra blinked at him.

"You are not the daughter of Eddard Stark," Art told her. "You are the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

Lyarra stared at him. "So I am not a Stark bastard, but a Targaryen one?"

Art shook his head. "You are not a bastard. Rhaegar and Lyanna were married."

"But he was married to Princess Elia?"

Art shook his head again. "No he wasn't."

"Are you saying that scoundrel Rhaegar set my sister aside?" Oberyn demanded.

"No, he married both of them."

"But polygamy is illegal. It has been for years," Lyarra stated. 

Os shook his head. "The mad fucker Aerys made it legal again. He just didn’t announce it."

"Then why didn't my sister tell me?" Oberyn scowled. 

"King Aerys ordered all of the ravens in King's Landing killed and everyone was too scared of him to get a message out," Art answered.

Oberyn glared but quietened down. 

"I don't understand," Lyarra said. 

Art turned back to her. "We are not Art and Os the sellswords. We are Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. Your father did not kill us when he arrived at the Tower of Joy. There was a fight, yes, but your mother convinced us to stop before we could finish."

He looked her in the eye, his deep indigo gaze boring into her. "We were there when your mother birthed you. We were by your uncle's side as she named you Alysanne Targaryen. And we were there as your father hid you behind the disguise of Lyarra Snow, his bastard."

He smiled, a small genuine thing. "Rhaegar wanted you to be named Visenya, if you were a girl, but I like Alysanne far better. The Good Queen is far better than the cursed, warrior one."

Lyarra's eyes widened and she swayed where she stood. 

Sarella got up from her knees. 

She bowed her head. "My queen."

"Please don't," Lyarra implored, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of her best friend's tear-stained face. "Not now, Ella. Not from you."

Sarella raised her head and nodded, eyes flitting to the dragon, which had climbed onto Lyarra's shoulder. 

"What will you name it?"

Some variation of Arya was on the tip of her tongue, but Lyarra hesitated. She could feel that it would be wrong. This dragon was not like Arya. She was more reserved, better behaved. 

"Visansa. Her name is Visansa."

Sarella looked at the creature and nodded, a smile gracing her features. 

"She is beautiful," she proclaimed and turned her eyes back to Lyarra. "Just like her mother."

Lyarra fought to keep a blush from her face as Daemon hid a laugh with a cough. He turned his head to the starry sky. 

"We should get back," he announced. "We all need rest. Not to mention time to get our story straight."

Luckily, they had brought an extra horse, though, no one had commented that they had expected it to carry a body, not a young woman and a dragon hatchling. Daemon gave Lyarra his cloak to wrap Visansa in so she would not be seen. 

As Art helped her swing on, Lya noticed a red star appear in the sky.

\---

Lyarra could not pull her eyes from her reflection. She had changed so much. 

Her hair was now silver-white at the ends, darkening trough grey, to black in about three centimetres and her eyes were now tinged purple. 

She only looked away when she heard Visansa chirp. The tiny creature was curled up on Ghost's back, watching her curiously. 

A knock on her door and a shout of ascent from her had Sarella entering the room. 

They were both silent for a few moments before Sarella was striding forwards and enveloping her in a tight hug. 

"I thought I lost you," Sarella whispered.

"I thought I was lost," Lyarra replied. 

Sarella pulled back, looking her in the eye. "Never do that to me again."

"I cannot promise anything but I will try."

Sarella stared at her for three long seconds, before she lunged forward, pushing her lips against Lyarra's in a bruising kiss. Lyarra responded in kind, sinking into it. They grabbed at each other desperately, Sarella pushing Lyarra back, knees buckling when she hit the bed. Her back hit the soft covers and Sarella climbed on top of her, the kiss reaching another level of intensity. 

A chirp from the other side of the bed broke them apart as both of them looked over to see Visansa and Ghost staring at them. 

Lyarra blushed and pushed herself up, and Sarella turned off her to allow her. 

Sarella shot her a wickedly suggestive smile. "Maybe another time, my wolf."

Lyarra frowned. "I guess I'm not really a wolf."

Sarella raised an eyebrow, turning her gaze to Ghost and then back to her. "You're as much a wolf as any Stark. You just also happen to be a dragon."

She caressed the fair-skinned girl's face. "My dragonwolf."

Lyarra so wanted to leave it at that, to collapse into her bed and fall into a deep sleep, but she couldn't. She shook her head, glancing down.

Sarella leaned her head to the side. "What is wrong?"

Lyarra squeezed her eyes shut. 

"I'm just so angry," she admitted, voice shaking. "Everything I know is a lie. My father, who I've tried to be as much like as I can, is not my father. My brothers and sisters, who I love and cherish, are not my siblings. And those who wish to be my Queensguard have lied to me for almost a year."

Sarella leaned forward, tilting Lyarra's chin to face her. "They were doing what they thought best. Your father did everything he could to protect you that did not also involve him betraying his best friend. And Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, assigned themselves to guard the house you were living in as soon as they found you."

"I know, it's just -"�  
Sarella continued as if she hadn't spoken, obviously no finished her piece yet. "There was nothing to be gained from telling you any earlier. And they probably wanted to make sure you had not succumbed to the Targaryen madness first as well."

Lyarra frowned at that thought, not liking the mental image of her ordering Visansa to burn whoever displeased her.

Sarella moved her other hand up to rub her arm. "And the fact that your siblings are not yours by blood does not stop you from growing up their sister. You are still their cousin, and there are many cousins who are as close as siblings."

The knot in Lyarra's gut loosened and her shoulders sagged in relief, but the troubled frown did not leave her face. 

"What of your father?"

It was Sarella's turn to frown. Oberyn had been silent the entire ride home and had stormed inside as soon as they dismounted, leaving Daemon to deal with his horse.

Sarella squeezed her arm.

"He'll come around," she reassured her. "He's just angry. He's never moved on from the death of his sister, and he blames both your parents for it, though not as much as he blames Tywin Lannister."

Lyarra drew back as nerves started twisting her stomach again. 

Sarella leaned forward, not letting her escape, and keeping her chin in a firm grip so she could not turn away. 

"He will be fine," she stated firmly. "He is very fond of you - I would even go so far as to say that you are almost a daughter to him. The fact that you are a dragon as well as a wolf does not change who you are. He knows that, he just needs time."

Lyarra nodded, her expression smoothing and Sarella smiled, kissing her gently on the head and moved up to the pillows. Lyarra crawled up after her, folding herself into Sarella's warm embrace.

"Goodnight, my Sand Snake."

Sarella's hands carded through her hair. "Sweet dreams, my queen."

\---

The next day, Oberyn laughed at them when they emerged from the room the next morning. 

"So you finally did it?"

Lyarra blushed and Sarella scowled at her father as she pulled her to her side. 

"Ah, so you didn't."

Sarella's scowl deepened and she looked as if she may lunge at Oberyn, who chuckled and raised his hand placatingly. 

"I only jest."

He took a jar out of his pocket and threw it to Lyarra, who caught it, her heart pounding as she looked at the prince, waiting to feel the sting of his angry words.

"Dye. For your hair."

Lyarra opened it find a sticky black substance.

Oberyn shrugged. "We cannot do anything about your eyes, but we can at least hide your hair."

Lyarra nodded, picking up her white tips between her fingers, but still staring at her host in trepidation. 

The prince sighed, before looking at Lyarra. 

"I apologise for my behaviour last night. I needed some time to accept that you are… their daughter."

He shook his head. "But I know you. And I trust you, and, should you ever choose to reclaim your birthright, Dorne will be happy to kill some lions and stags to get you to the throne.

Lyarra nodded at him, smiling, and turned to leave, but was stopped as Os and Art - no, it was Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur - knelt in front of her, swords pointing downwards.

"We wish to swear fealty to you and to take a vow of the Kingsguard - well Queensguard - your grace," Ser Oswell announced. 

"We want to serve you in the wars to come."

Lyarra frowned. "What if I do not wish to wage any wars?"

Ser Oswell raised his eyebrows and nodded at Visansa, who was perched on her shoulder. "With all due respect, my queen, but the presence of that dragon there will mean you'll have to go to war at some point. King Robert won't just let you live."

"It's true," Oberyn said. "The Usurper swore to kill all of the dragonspawn."

"You will not be able to hide her forever," Daemon reasoned, taking a step forward. 

Lyarra frowned. "What if she does not grow much larger?"

"Do you really believe that will happen?" the Dornish knight asked, raising his eyebrow.

Lyarra reached a hand to her shoulder to run it across Visansa's head. 

She shook her head, feeling the connection between them thrum with approval. "No. I don't."

She turned back to Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, who were still kneeling. 

"I do not know the Kingsguard vows," she admitted. 

Ser Arthur quirked his lip upwards. "Every ruler makes her own. We can help you draft them. For now, we will just swear fealty."

He and Ser Oswell bowed they're heads. 

"We will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give our lives for yours if need be. We swear it by the old gods and the new."

Lyarra nodded and looked around uncomfortably before Sarella leaned in to her and started whispering in her ear. 

"And I vow that you will always have a place at my hearth and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask no service of you that may bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new," she replies. "Arise."

The two knights stood up, both smiling. Then Ser Oswell walked over to the table and withdrew two swords. 

"These are your ancestral swords, Dark Sister and Blackfyre."

He held out the more slender one and Lyarra took it, admiring its flame pommel, wavy handguard and oval shaped ruby encrusted into the hilt.

"Where did you find these?" Trystane asked, awe tinging his voice. "They've been lost for centuries."

"Some old slaver from Volantis like to collect Valyrian steal swords, particularly from great houses of Westeros," Oswell explained. "We also acquired from him Brightroar, the Lannister sword, Lamentation, the sword of House Royse, Orphan-Maker, the sword of House Roxton and Vigilance, the sword of House Hightower, which is currently being carried by Ser Gerold Hightower, who is amassing a sellsword company somewhere near Myr." 

"How did you get them from him?" Trystane asked. Os only answered with a dark grin. 

Lyarra had not finished admiring the Valyrian steel sword when Art interrupted her thoughts. 

"There is one other thing."

He withdrew another object from the bag. When he turned back around, all of Lyarra's attention was drawn away from Dark Sister. 

In his hands was another dragon egg. This one a pale grey with veins of red running over it. And, just like with Visansa's egg, she felt pulled towards it. 

"This is your crib egg," Arthur explained as Lyarra picked it up. "Your uncle bid me take it with me when he left the Tower of Joy."

Visansa clambered down to her for arm, chirping as she blinked at the egg.

"Thank you," Lyarra whispered as she looked up at them. "Thank you so much."

\---

As soon as Sarella and Lyarra entered the temple, Mistress Irnyr walked up to them. 

"Guardian Snow," she addressed, "you are to come with me."

Lyarra made to walk off but Sarella grabbed her arm desperately. 

"It is alright, child," High Guardian Irnyr assured Sarella. "We only wish her to give a report of yesterday's events.

Sarella frowned deeply, but let go of her arm, allowing Mistress Irnyr to lead her towards the Arch-Guardian chamber. All three leaders of the temple were there when she arrived, and when Arch-Mistress Aenaris bade her, Lyarra started recounting the story they had worked out last night. She told them that she had jumped out the window when she could not get to the door and had gotten lost when she tried to make her way back to the city.

When she was finished, Grand-Mistress Fyllel leant back.

"Well, we are glad that you are alright," she said with a warm smile on her face.

"Yes," Arch-Guardian Aenaris continued. "Yesterday's events were a tragedy, but, from what you have reported, the man would not have had much chance of living anyway. We will compensate the family, and help them recover."

Lyarra bowed her head. "Thank you."

Grandmaster Nestar glanced at his fellow leaders and scowled. 

"There is no use in dancing around the issue. She is never going to tell us if she thinks she can get away with it."

He stared intensely at Lyarra. "We know that you performed some powerful magic last night and we know that it has something to do with dragons."

Arch-Guardian Aenaris frowned. "We do not know that."

Guardian Nestar gestured towards Lyarra. "Her eyes have changed. How could the visions and signs have not been about her! You cannot tell me she wouldn't have been injured if she had jumped from the window and that she would not have come to the temple to be treated."

Lyarra took a half step back, already planning her escape in the back of her mind. Grandmistress Fyllel saw this and was quick to reassure her. 

"We do not seek to meddle in your affairs, you Guardian. We only wish to tell you what this could mean for your training at the temple," she assured her.

"Yes," the Arch-Guardian agreed. "Last night proved that you have magic in your blood, as we have suspected, which means that we may be able to begin your training to become a High Guardian."

Lyarra frowned. "But it takes years to even be considered for the program!"

"Yes, usually," Grand-Guardian Fyllel told her, "But to those who already have a talent for magic, the process can be much quicker."

"I don't understand," Lyarra said, furrowing her eyebrows.

Grand-Guardian Fyllel stood up. "Come with me and I will show you."

She led Lyarra into the main area of the temple, down the halls to where the most injured patients were kept; the kind of patients that Lyarra had never been allowed to treat before.

Grand-Guardian Fyllel opened one of the doors and asked the High-Guardian sitting there to leave. She quickly walked over to the man, who had ugly gashes all over him and his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. 

"The poor man got caught under a ship when he fell off the docks," Grandmistress Fyllel explained as she leant over him. 

"Watch carefully now, dear," she ordered mere moments before she pricked her finger with a needle she produced from her hand. 

"I'm sure you know the power of a little blood sacrifice," she told her kindly as her hands began to glow with a smooth, golden light.

She lightly touched the man's wounds and slowly, they began to close. Lyarra stared in awe as the bleeding stopped. 

"What was that?" she asked. 

Grandmistress Fyllel turned back to her, a smile on her face. "That was magic."

\---

Lyarra entered the house. She had been silent on the walk home, wide-eyed with awe, but now she was practically bursting with all she wanted to tell about her day.

However, before she could speak, she sensed the sombre mood in the room. Oberyn, Trystane and Daemon were looking at her solemnly and Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, who had escorted them home, stared at her with sad eyes. 

"What is it?" she asked.

She noticed some papers in Oberyn's hand. "Are those letters? I haven't received any from my family in weeks!"

Her eyebrows furrowed as they continued staring at her. "I know I cannot tell them about Visansa, but I still wish to communicate with them."

Oberyn took a step forward and placed a tender hand on her shoulder. 

"It's Lord Stark, Lyarra." He paused and swallowed. "He was executed as a traitor to the crown."

Lyarra was silent for a few moments before she reacted. 

"Lies!" she yelled. "My father would never!"

"They said he tried to usurp King Joffrey after his father's death," Oberyn continued. "Doran sent me a copy of the letter he sent out to the seven kingdoms. Your uncle claimed that the 'false prince' Joffrey is a bastard - the natural born son of Queen Cersei and the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister."

Lyarra stared at him, trying to process the words. 

Daemon stepped forward, his face set in a troubled frown. 

"There's more."

"More?"

He took a deep breath.

"The North has declared war on the crown, with your brother at their head."

Lyarrra froze, standing perfectly still for a few moments before she rushed out of the room. 

She slammed open her bedroom door, startling Visansa, who had been sleeping in the brazier of fire in it. Tears clouded her vision as she threw open her trunk, rushing around the room to gather her things. Sarella joined her a few moments later and crossed her arms. 

"What are you doing?" she asked. 

"Packing."

Sarella took a step forward. "And why are you doing that? What are you hoping to achieve?"

She gestured to Visansa, who had hopped off the burning wood. "Your dragon can't even breathe fire yet. She is in no condition to travel. You won't be able to help Robb. You'll just be another body to throw away in his army."

When Lyarra payed her no mind, she strode forward and grabbed her arms. 

"You promised me you would try not to die," she claimed fiercely, desperation in her eyes. "Please do not throw away your life."

Lyarra's lips trembled before she melted into Sarella's arms. 

"I know he was not my true father, but he was the only one I knew," she whispered whilst the Sand Snake squeezed her tightly.

"From what you tell me, your brother has a steady head and a true heart," Sarella murmured. "He has the North around him and he will either win this war or he will die. There is nothing you can do about it."

"I know," Lyarra admitted with a sob. "I wish it were different."

Sarella rubbed her back. "I know, my Dragonwolf. I know."

\---

And so, she continued to live in Essos. 

Her training as a High Guardian was demanding and exhausting, and mostly involved a lot of meditating, reaching into her 'core' and reading about how the body healed.

At one point, Lyarra had been given a few days off. Sarella would be residing in the temple for the duration of that time, as she was going through intensive testing to see whether she would be eligible to begin training as a High Guardian. If she succeeded, she would become the youngest without magical predisposition to be trained in the magic of Trios. 

The Grand-Guardians and the Arch-Guardian had agreed that Lyarra's presence there could be a distraction (a conclusion which had caused her to blush ferociously) and so had commanded to take a few days of rest from her studies. 

So, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Ser Daemon had decided to take Lyarra almost a full day's ride away from the new house Oberyn had bought, miles out from the city and near caves by the sea that Visansa, who was now too large to hide in a building, could live in, so that she could get accustomed to sleeping without a bed, and so that she could train on the sandy terrain that they had ridden to. A few of the Dornish guards had come with them as they camped near the cliff. 

Which was how Lyarra found herself falling into the sand for what felt like the hundredth time that day, much to the amusement of those around her, including Ghost, who Lyarra just knew would be laughing at her if he could.

Ser Arthur leaned down, pulling her to her feet. Almost three years into their training and he was the only one who could beat her consistently now. 

"You need to improve your balance," he told her sternly in High Valyrian.

Lyarra nodded, sighing. "I know. I know."

In addition to training her in combat, the two knights, along with Oberyn had begun instructing her in the ways of ruling. They taught her how to manage armies and kingdoms, they tutored her in High Valyrian and in the art of identifying and using poisons (something Ghost was very good at sniffing out), and they advised her on what steps to take next. 

Lyarra picked up Wolf's Bite, from where she had dropped in the sand. She had managed to keep a hold of Dark Sister in her right hand. She had taken to favouring fighting with two swords, much like Ser Arthur. The knight had started using Dawn again once he had taken his Queensguard vows, resuming his position as Sword of the Morning once again. 

They circled each other, coming to a stop and readying themselves to attack. But, before Arthur could charge forwards, they were approached by a band of about thirty men, who had climbed over a dune surrounding them. 

Everyone in their group immediately unsheathed their swords, and the leader, who was wearing a black and green headscarf, just like the rest of his men, stepped forward, laughing good-naturedly. 

"There is no need for hostilities, my friends."

Ser Arthur took a step forward. "Move on from here. We do not want to fight you."

The man took another step forward, shaking his head. 

"I am afraid I cannot do that," he told them, eyeing their weapons, before his gaze rested on Lyarra with a predatory smile. 

"You see, we are slavers. And those are some fine weapons you have there, which probably means you will do well in the fighting pits. And that beauty you have there will do well in any pleasure house we sell her to."

Ser Oswell took a step towards Lyarra, lifting his sword. "I'm afraid we won't be able to allow that."

The man glanced around at the people behind him, then back at their group. "We outnumber you four to one. It's best if you just come with us. There will be less bloodshed."

Daemon gave out a laugh. "I'm betting that Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell alone are worth at least ten of you."

The man quirked his eyebrow at him, before glancing at Lyarra. "Do you really want to do this, girlie? You know, if you give us too much trouble, we might have to sample to product before we sell."

Lyarra hid her shiver of revulsion as she raised her swords and Ghost crouched, ready to pounce at the closest attacker.

"My blades can't wait to taste your blood. And neither can my wolf."

The man's gaze flickered downwards to the direwolf, fear flickering behind his eyes before he shook it off. 

"One wolf can't kill all my men."

"Aye," Lyarra agreed. "But two wolves and their friends might be able to."

The battle was surprisingly short. 

Three men came towards her, and Lyarra cut the first down, as he had not bothered to raise his sword before advancing. The other two did not make the same mistake. Regardless, though, Lyarra easily blocked the second's slash with Wolf's Bite, swinging Dark Sister around to catch him in the neck, and he dropped, blood spurting from his wound. 

The third man was more cautious, managing to block two of her strikes, before she hooked her blade under his guard, disarming him with a flick, and driving her other weapon into his head. 

She turned to find Ghost tackling his fifth victim to the ground, whilst Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur were tearing through in any man trying to approach her. 

Ser Daemon stepped up to her side, grabbing her arm and steering her gently away from the carnage, head swivelling to spot any attack. 

Soon there were only three left, all backed onto the edge of the cliff. Ser Oswell stepped forward, ready to engage them, but quickly backed away when a flash of dark blue flew up from the cliff face, lunging at the men and tearing them to pieces. 

Even Lyarra couldn't restrained a gasp at the sight of Visansa, now big enough to ride two years after her hatching, standing on the edge of the cliff, blood dripping from her claws and jaw. There was a furious glint in her eyes as she crushed the corpses beneath her feet. 

Visansa's gaze fell on Daemon, who was still holding Lyarra's arm. She growled, lunging for the man and pushing him away from her mother. 

"No!" Lyarra shouted, as her dragon shoved the knight down with one claw. 

The creature glanced over at Lyarra, and the young queen saw the moment Visansa decided to disobey her mother for the first time.

"Do not!" Lyarra commanded as her child reared her head back. 

She felt panic well up inside her, as she pushed her voice out, reaching out with her mind as she instinctually took control of Visansa's body, her vision tunnelling as her reality suddenly shifted.

She was watching the people around her body rush towards it as it collapsed, Daemon turning his head to the side and shouted her name in concern, despite his own predicament. Lyarra could feel her foot on his chest and lifted it, sensing Visansa try and fight her, screeching in her head. Lyarra sent a mental growl towards the consiousness she recognised as her dragon, sending a fierce flurry of reprimands at her hatchling. Visansa was instantly cowed, whimpering an apology.

Lyarra gave a mental nod and let go of the connection, her consciousness returning back to her body as she sat up, jerking out of Ser Arthur's arms. 

"Are you alright, my queen?" he asked, kneeling beside her. 

Lyarra nodded, rubbing her head as she readjusted to having no wings. 

"What happened?" Ser Oswell asked and Lyarra hesitated. 

Daemon frowned, looking between Lyarra and Visansa, who was lowering her head and whining apologetically. 

"That wasn't Visansa who let me go was it?"

Lyarra shook her head. "No. I made her do it."

Ser Arthur's eyes widened. "That would mean you're a…"

Lyarra finished for him. "A warg."

\---

One year later, Lyarra was in a large merchant's holdfast (which was more like a small city, with a large, stone wall surrounding the ridiculously decorated castle a few miles out and a sprawling market of stalls from poorer merchants outside that) about three days out from the city. The Guardians had been asked to treat pain in the leading merchant's hip and this was the first case Lyarra had been permitted to take outside the city. 

The Guardians had been teaching her healing magic and Lyarra liked to think she was quite good at it by now. She found it easier to heal people with Ghost nearby, and even easier with both Visansa and Ghost. Sarella was advancing fast, and would soon graduate from her black Training Triquetra to a copper one, like Lyarra was currently wearing.

Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had accompanied her, in addition to Ser Daemon, who had been sent by Oberyn because he 'wasn't afraid to fight dirty'.

Even though her she had gotten steadily more busy over the years, Lyarra still made time to spend with Sarella. She would sing to the Dornish woman whilst Sarella would read to her. Recently, they had even taken to training together, Lyarra critiquing Sarella's archery and Sarella showing Lyarra how to throw knives. 

However queen-like she was treated by those at home, at that very moment, she felt like no more important than some tavern wench as she examined the fat merchant, who was switching between bragging about the two thousand Unsullied he had just bought and leering at her. It didn't help that he was mostly naked. 

When she was done, Lyarra quickly stepped back, averting her eyes from the merchant as she said, "I will make a healing potion and a salve to fix your hips. I should have enough to completely heal you done by tomorrow."

He nodded, a predatory smile on his face, and waved her out. She curtseyed shallowly and left, flanked by Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Daemon. 

She was grinding down her ingredients for her salve with Daemon standing beside her, teasing her quietly so neither of the other knights could overhear. 

"Why so solemn, your grace? Are you missing your Sand Snake?"

Lyarra scowled playfully. "You can't talk, ser. I saw you sighing for your Dornish prince earlier."

Daemon grinned. Lyarra had accidentally walked in on them making love in Oberyn's library one and a half years ago - a seen that would scar her for the rest of her life - and he never missed an opportunity to shamelessly remind her about it. 

Suddenly, she heard screaming. She jerked her head up a few moments before her guards heard the noises. 

"Stay here, your grace," Ser Oswell ordered, drawing his sword. "I will go investigate."

About ten minutes later, he returned, grim faced. 

"There's a Dothraki horde outside the wall. Six thousand of them. They decimated the market around the city. The guards, even with the Unsullied, won't be able to fight them. Especially since the walls have no way for people to climb on top of them and shoot arrows downward. They say they'll breach the gate by nightfall."

Ser Arthur unsheathed Dawn with Daemon not far behind. Ghost loped to her side, leaning into her, and bumping his head into hers. He was now taller than her, and strong enough to kill a dozen men. 

"We'll all die," Daemon concluded, a hopeless regret tinging his voice. 

Lyarra frowned, her mind racing. "Maybe not."

"Get me to the roof," she ordered. "And make sure no one disturbs me."

They followed her orders, and once they made it to the top of one of the towers, Lyarra sat down, crossing her legs as she reached inside her. Ghost curled up in front of her, adding his energy to hers as she reached for her connection to Visansa and slipped into her dragon's mind. 

Lyarra had practiced her warging abilities much over the years, and, for that reason, they did not fail her now, in her time of need. Her mind tunnelled into a large reptile and Lyarra jerked her long neck up, bursting out of the water in which she was hunting and taking to the sky, flying as fast as she could. 

In a little over ten minutes, Lyarra could hear the flaps of wings in the distance. She stood up, making her way back to her room, where she picked up her dragon egg, and then went down to the wall. She arrived at the gate, just as a great purple dragon flew over the small city. 

It hovered over the wall for a few moments before Lyarra thought one thing. 'Fire.'


	8. High Adventure

Visansa breathed out with a roar and the Dothraki horde lit up in flames. 

She flew around the circumference of the city, catching every rider in her fire. Screams of battle turned into screams of pain as the tribal warriors were burnt alive. Lyarra unstrapped Dark Sister and Wolf's Bite from where they were hanging at either hip and took Tooth off her forearm. She handed them to Ser Arthur. 

"Have a dress waiting for me when I get back," she commanded and then turned to the guards on the gate. 

"Open the gate," she ordered.

They hesitated glancing at each other nervously. 

"Do it," Daemon urged.

The guards turned the big wheel that opened the heavy wooden doors and egg in hand, Lyarra walked into the flames. 

\---

Hours later, when there was nothing but a few small fires, the gate opened again and Lyarra stood up from where she had sat as she felt the eggshell melt in her hands. 

Daemon, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Ghost walked out of the small city and Oswell handed her a simple earthy green wrap dress that she easily tied around her body. A chirp next to her ear had her glancing to the left, smiling as she looked at her new child. The light grey dragon had jagged veins of red all over its skin, like cracks in a rock and dark violet eyes that practically glowed. 

The merchant who owned the holdfast - Master Sanion - rushed through the gate moments later, falling to his knees as Visansa landed behind her, tall and proud. 

"My lady. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?"

Lyarra hesitated, trying to think of a reply. Master Sanion's eyes widened in fear, obviously taking her silence as displeasure. He threw his head down, practically kissing the dirt. 

"My apologies, your grace! I forgot myself. Please take anything you wish… Take…Take…Take my Unsullied! Take them!"

Lyarra glanced at Art, fighting hard to not reveal her shock. He nodded minutely. 

Lyarra raised her chin and mustered her most commanding and queenly voice possible. "Thank you for your gift, Master Sanion. I accept it graciously. But there is one more thing I must ask of you."

The merchant lifted his head. "I'll give you anything my queen! You need only ask."

"Make sure no one speaks of what happened here today," she nodded. "Do not mention my name, nor my dragon. If people ask, tell them that the god, Trios, sent down a three headed guardian to burn the Dothraki horde to the ground."

Master Sanion nodded his head frantically. "Of course, your grace. Thank you."

As they rode away from the merchant city, Daemon leaned over to her. 

"Do you really thing that no one is going to speak of what happened here."

Lyarra pursed her lips. "No, but hopefully the rumours will be just fantastical enough that no one believes them, and it gives us enough time to get our affairs in order."

Daemon nodded, and then looked at her hesitantly.

"Does it hurt?" he asked. "Burning?"

Lyarra shook her head, a small smile gracing her features. "Dragons do not burn, Daemon. But, to answer your question, no, it does not hurt. It only felt like a warm embrace."

Daemon ruminated over this for a few moments. Then he grinned. 

"So, what is its name?" he questioned. 

Lyarra did not hesitate when she answered. "Antarya."

\---

Sarella was waiting for her when she got home. 

They greeted each other with a passionate kiss which was mirrored by Daemon and Tristane. 

Lyarra frowned when Sarella pulled away sooner than usual. 

"What is wrong?" she asked. 

Sarella looked down. "It is your brother."

Lyarra listened as Sarella told her about the circumstances of Robb's death. How he was betrayed by the Freys. How he and his wife and the lords of the North were slaughtered at his own uncle's wedding. The story pained her even more than hearing how Bran and Rickon were murdered by Theon.

When she was done, Lyarra excused herself and made her way down to the caves where Visansa slept. She pet her snout and cried as her creatures surrounded her. 

After a few hours, Sarella joined her, passing Ser Arthur, who was standing vigil at the mouth of the cave with a nod. 

"Are you going to attack them?" Sarella asked. 

"Yes," Lyarra answered, looking off into the distance. "But not yet."

She turned to her lover. "I cannot just fly over to Westeros and burn their castles to the ground. I need armies. I need allies."

Sarella smiled. "You already have the start of one."

Lyarra frowned. "I may not on the morrow. I will not have slaves in my army."

Sarella's eyes softened. "I love you, you know."

Lyarra froze. She had thought the words a thousand times but never had the courage to say them. She had taken comfort in the looks that Sarella gave her, knowing that she felt the same. 

She reached out and caressed Sarella's face. "I know. I love you too."

They shared a passionate kiss that was only broken when Ser Arthur cleared his throat loudly. 

Lyarra looked over at him, blushing slightly. 

"Yes, Ser Arthur?"

"I think I have a partial solution to your army problem."

She inclined her head, signalling him to go on. 

"I mentioned that Ser Gerold Hightower had a sellsword company?"

Lyarra nodded. 

"Well, the last report he sent stated that it now has around five and a half thousand men. And it is predicted to grow exponentially in the years to come."

Sarella and Lyarra shared a grin. 

"It's a start," Sarella said.

\---

Trystane, Oberyn, Daemon, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Sarella were all present as she laid out her intentions to retake the seven kingdoms.

Oberyn smiled when he had finished, leaning back. 

"You will have Dorne's support, my queen," he announced. "Doran has agreed to stay his hand in outrightly supporting the Lannisters, and he will certainly agree to back a powerful ruler opposing them. Dorne has no love for the lions."

Lyarra smiled graciously at him and nodded. 

Ser Oswell sighed and Lyarra looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 

"What is it, Os?" she asked teasingly. 

She had taken to calling him by this nickname whenever they were in private, as the knight was amused by it. Ser Arthur hated the name Art, so Lyarra only called him that when he was being particularly annoying with his blunt, rational advice.

"I am sorry to say this, my queen," he replied, "but you will have to marry at some point. It will most likely be for strategy."

His eyes flitted over to Sarella guiltily and Lyarra frowned deeply, grabbing her hand. 

Sarella ran her free hand through Lyarra's hair. "It is true, my love."

Lyarra turned to her. "I don't want to let you go."

Sarella leaned her head against hers. "I know. Neither do I. But you will have to."

Trystane stood, a look of deep concentration on his face. 

"Maybe you won't have to," he murmured. 

Lyarra glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. 

"You won't have to leave each other if you marry me," he proclaimed. "You won't have to give up Sarella and I won't have to give up Daemon."

Lyarra gave her full attention to him as he continued, "I suspect neither of us will care much about fidelity. And, besides, we won't have to worry about dishonouring each other by creating bastards."

Lyarra glanced back at Sarella, feeling hope seize her heart. 

"It will solidify your alliance with Dorne," Oberyn reasoned. "And it will mean you won't have to fight off a line of suitors."

Lyarra looked to Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, who both gave nods of approval, to Sarella, who was beaming at the prospect, and finally to Daemon, who shrugged with an easy smile. 

"I guess I can share," he admitted. 

"They'll only need to bed each other when they want to produce an heir," Sarella said. "And I suspect that won't be for a very long time. They don't even need to get married immediately, just be promised to each other."

"Besides," she continued with a suggestive smirk as she glanced at Daemon under eyelashes, "who says we cannot join in?"

Lyarra turned to Trystane, taking a step towards him and extending her hand. 

"Then we shall marry," she announced with a grin. 

He met her smile with a smirk of his own, taking her hand and kissing it. 

"I can’t wait."

\---

The next morning, she made her way out to the camp of Unsullied that now surrounded Oberyn's house. Well, it wasn't really a camp. There were no tents, and most of them hadn't even bothered with makeshift pillows.

Lyarra walked up to them, the golden whip that symbolised her control over them in her hand, Antarya on her shoulder and Ghost and Visansa at her back.

When she walked up to the warriors, they all stood up and formed rows as quickly as possible. 

She threw the whip to the side. 

"You are free," she told them in Valeryian.

When none of them reacted, she went on, "I refuse to own any slaves. So, if you decide to stay, you will be compensated. Admittedly, I will not be able to pay you much now. However, I intend to take back my family's kingdoms in Westeros and once I have, I promise you will be regarded as respected soldiers in my army."

They still did not move. "If you do not want to be a part of my army, myself and those in my household are prepared to help you find places in various sellsword companies that are currently residing in Tyrosh."

There was again no reaction, so Lyarra sent a thought to Visansa, who opened her jaw and melted the whip with her fire. 

She stared at the two thousand men in front of her. One beat passed. Then two.

Lyarra was considering just walking back when one Unsullied, a few rows back waded to the front and knelt at Lyarra's feet. 

"I will serve you, my queen."

The other Unsullied dropped to their knees and simultaneously echoed his vow.

Lyarra nodded.

\---

Just under eight months later, they were packing on ships to leave. Oberyn had employed a fleet that he said they could trust, and they were currently loading half of the Unsullied onto the twenty ships near the harbour of Tyrosh. The other half would be marching north to the area Ser Gerold and his sellsword company, Dragon's Fire, were residing, just above Myr. 

She had bid them, and their leader, Black Toad, goodbye a week ago, at the same time as Oberyn, who had sailed back to Dorne to procure their troops and move them North. She would send for Ser Gerold's men when she had secured a place for them to stay in the North, before they moved on Winterfell. 

They would be taking twenty ships to Westeros, with eighteen of them planning to dock on the unnamed island on the Bay of Seals whilst Lyarra would take the other two and land near East Watch, marching up to Castle Black where her uncle was. 

Lyarra was standing on the Water Dancer by the very large crate that they had packed Antarya in (Visansa would meet them while they were out at sea and swim and fly near them as they travelled, even though she could probably make the trip in roughly a day, and that was if she was just flying leisurely) when a man with a familiar face strolled up to her. 

"Emmerson!" she exclaimed excitedly and the man grinned crookedly at her. 

"It's Captain Tarlor now," he proclaimed. 

"What happened to Captain Barner?" Lyarra asked, immediately causing Emmerson to frown solemnly.

"His friend from Dragonstone asked him to fight for King Stannis in the Battle of the Blackwater."

Lyarra winced. "I'm sorry."

The Captain shook his head, a faraway look passing through his eyes. "There was green fire everywhere. I'd never seen anything like it. A fleet of one hundred ships reduced to practically nothing. It's taken me years to just recover a fifth of what Captain Barner previously had."

"Then why are you joining another army?"

Emmerson shrugged. "I don't know. It just feels right."

Lyarra nodded and the ship started to pull away from land. 

"It looks like we've really moved up in the world, Lyarra Snow," Emmerson observed. "I am a Commander of a Fleet now, and you are a Dragon Queen."

\---

Their journey was not easy. The seas were wracked with storms, they weren't violent enough to be dangerous for the ships, but they were strong and frequent enough to make their time miserable. 

Lyarra and Sarella were standing on the deck one night. Sarella was reading a book about sea monsters whilst Lyarra stared at their eerie surroundings. The rain had abated sometime in the early afternoon, leaving a thick fog behind it that mean she could only just see the edge of the ship she was on.

Suddenly, there was a thudding to the right and Lyarra saw planks of wood crash onto the railings of the ship. Men rushed onto the ship, bearing weapons and snarls. 

Soon, the Unsullied on her ship poured out of the hold and engaged them in battle. They were winning, Lyarra and her men cutting down the pirates left and right.

Abruptly a shout drew her attention to the left and the sight she was met with made her stomach drop. 

"Stop!" she screamed and the fighting came to a halt. 

A red haired man with a scar down his face and a wild look in his eyes was holding a blade at Sarella's throat. 

"You’re a couple of fierce ones, aren't ya?" he said. 

He glanced between Sarella and her both of whom were wearing their triquetra pins. "You must be some interesting girls. Guardians with a band of Unsullied."

He chuckled darkly. "I'm going to enjoy fucking the life out of you."

"Now drop your -"

Before he could finish his sentence, his ship exploded. The wood cracked and splintered as it was pulled away from the Water Dancer and disappeared into the fog. A blaze of light lit up the murky surrounding as it burst into flames.

Sarella took advantage of the man's surprise, pushing his arm away and wrenching herself free, following her escape by delivering a swift elbow to his chin and a knee to his groin, causing the man to drop. She kicked his weapons away from him and pointed her scimitar at his throat as two Unsullied moved to aim their spears at him. 

Ghost and Antarya chose that time to burst from the cabin where they had been dozing, the direwolf ripping through the remaining men furiously whilst the young dragon engulfed their heads in flames and tore their throats out. 

It was over in minutes and Lyarra walked over to the man slowly, Antarya and Ghost flanking her whilst Daemon, Ser Oswell, Ser Arthur and Trystane checked the bodies to make sure none of the pirates were alive. The man was hoisted up by the two Unsullied. 

"Who are you?" she asked harshly, not sheathing Wolf's Bite. 

The man smiled (what he probably believed was) charmingly. "Euron Greyjoy, at your service, my lady."

"You are speaking to a queen," Ash Mongrel, the head of her Unsullied forces that had come with her, spat. 

"Pardon me," the man said. "I was unaware. Which queen are you?"

"She is Queen Alysanne Dragonwolf of the House Targaryen, High Guardian of the Temple of Trios and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men," Sarella announced.

"Forgive me, your grace," he apologised with a smile. "I've never heard of you. I didn't know there were dragons outside the ones that Daenerys Targaryen has used to conquer parts of Essos with."

Lyarra quirked her lip. "Good."

With a nod, Ash Mongrel and Dust Nit were forcing Greyjoy to his knees whilst another Unsullied brought over a stool. They placed his neck on it. 

"Euron Greyjoy," Lyarra proclaimed. "You have been charged with piracy and with attempted murder. As well as, I am sure, a whole host of other monstrosities. How do you plead?"

"Well, I can't exactly say not guilty, can I?"

She raised her chin. "I sentence you to death. Do you have any last words?"

He spat on the ground. "What is dead may never die."

She sheathed Wolf's Bite and took out Dark Sister. However good it would feel to use the sword her father gave her to carry out the sentence, it was outweighed by the fact that she knew the Valeryian steel was far more likely to cut through his neck cleanly. 

She raised her sword and brought it down hard, severing his head in one swoop.

As they were cleaning up his body, Lyarra leaned over to Sarella. 

"I think the long list of titles was lost on him, don't you?" she asked. 

Sarella smirked. "I've got to start practicing at some point, don't I?"

\---

The fog continued for days and days and, eventually, the two ships had to drop anchor off the nearest coast.

Lyarra decided to go inland to investigate the terrain with seventy Unsullied and her retinue, much to the chagrin of her Queensguard. But, she knew the North better than anyone else and was more likely to recognise where exactly they were. 

They were about two miles inland, wading through heavy snow with a stretch of dense woods to their left, when they were attacked. 

People in snow dusted grey furs surrounded them from all sides, wielding crude weapons. They fought feircly, but were no match for the Unsullied they had brought with them, nor Daemon, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Trystane, who had all been fighting against the most questionable characters there were for years.

Lyarra and Sarella took down a fair few of them themselves, fighting side by side, with Sarella slashing mercilessly with her scimitar and Lyarra wielding Wolf's Bite and Dark Sister in either hand. 

Soon, there were only a few of them left and a tall ginger, bearded man who must have been their leader threw down his axe with a scowl. 

"The kneelers have got us," he growled and Lyarra abruptly realised they were wildlings. 

"We sailed too far," she told the others. "We're North of the wall."

Ser Arthur nodded contemplating and asked. "What would you like to do, my queen?" 

She turned to the leader. "What is your name?"

He spat on the ground. "Tormund Giantsbane."

"Do you know the way to Castle Black from here?"

"Aye, I do."

Lyarra glanced at the people around her. "We will take fifty men and travel to Castle Black. Our ships will join the others."

Ser Oswell frowned. "Are you sure, your grace? It is dangerous North of the Wall."

Lyarra lifted her chin. "I do not want to be sailing for another month and it may take that long with the storms that have been slowing us down. My uncle, Benjen Stark, will be at Castle Black. I trust him more than whatever criminals are manning East Watch."

"You're related to the crow?" Tormund burst out. 

Lyarra glanced at him. "As I said, he is my uncle. How do you know him?"

Tormund scowled. "The cunt joined us when we captured him, then ran back to the Night's Watch when he got the first chance."

Lyarra quirked her lip. "Good for him."

Ser Oswell let out a bark of laughter.

"Ash Mongrel," she ordered, looking at the Unsullied in question. "Take twenty men back to Captain Tarlor and tell him my orders."

The Unsullied soldier shifted uncomfortably. "Forgive me, my queen, but I would like to come with you."

Lyarra paused. Honestly, she was a little proud that he had even asked. A few months ago, none of the Unsullied had dared ask for anything. 

She considered his request. On the one hand, she did not want to seem weak. But, on the other, who was there to judge her that wasn't a wildling, a soldier unquestionably loyal to her or someone who had known her before she became Queen Alysanne?

Ash Mongrel had been the first Unsullied to pledge himself to her, and, since then, he had always tried his best to be assigned as her personal guard and had become even more protective of her than the other Unsullied, who all would not hesitate to give their lives for her. 

She nodded at him and then shifted her attention to Dust Nit. "Will you lead the men back?"

He nodded. "Yes, my queen."

"You need to burn the bodies," Tormund told her tersely. 

She looked at him, her lips pulling down. "Why would we do that?"

He looked her in the eye, "So they don't come back."

Lyarra felt her eyes widen as Trystane huffed out, "What?" 

"He is mad," Daemon scoffed. 

Tormund glanced at him. "Aye, I might be. But that doesn't stop the dead from getting back up and killing us."

Lyarra's instinct was to dismiss him like the rest of her party was doing, but she could not. Her mind went to all the stories Old Nan used to tell her in the dead of night, about the Others and the Night King, who wanted to rid the world of the living. On top of that, something about the look in the wilding's eyes made her believe him. They did not hold the depravity that Euron Greyjoy's had, only fear.

She jerked her head at the Unsullied restraining the four remaining wildlings. 

"Take Tormund and his friends into the woods. We'll come get you when it's time to leave."

A few minutes after they disappeared into the tree line, Visansa and Anatrya, who was now about two heads taller than Lyarra and would soon be large enough to ride, landed near them. With a mental command, they were burning the bodies, which collapsed into ashes within seconds. 

She gave each one a pat one their snouts. 

"Don't worry," she assured them, resting a hand on Ghost, who was now almost the size of a horse, "he'll keep me safe."

The dragons nuzzled her, making worried purrs in the back of her throat, before flying off. 

"Right," she announced, reaching out for Sarella's hand. "Let's go visit the Night's Watch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a little short. I'm leaving to travel to Europe, so my updates might be a little sparse for the next two weeks, but I will continue writing.


	9. Wildlings, Crows and Redheads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I didn't have internet very often when I was overseas. 
> 
> Also, this chapter might feel a little rushed, but I just really didn't want to write anymore details in it. I might com back later and fill it out, but it won't be with anymore plot points.

They ran into them on their fourth day of travelling. 

Three bodies, in varying rates of decay, wobbled out of the trees, eyes burning icy blue as they walked straight towards them. 

The wildlings immediately strained against their bonds as Ash Mongrel, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell stepped forward to meet them. 

"Your weapons won't do anything against them!" Tormund yelled. "We can only run!"

He seemed to be right for the most part. 

The sword and spear Ser Oswell and Ash Mongrel respectively stabbed into their opponents did nothing, but as soon as Ser Arthur drove dawn into the creature's heart, it went limp, collapsing to the ground. 

Ser Oswell and Ash stepped back, shocked that their weapons had had no effect, but Ser Arthur continued his attack, removing the two wights' heads in one sweeping blow.

Lyarra's hand tightened where it had grabbed Dark Sister instinctively. She glanced at Tormund, who was gaping at the collapsed corpses. 

"What happened?" Trystane asked. "Why could Ser Arthur kill them and Ser Oswell and Ash Mongrel not?"

Sarella, always the smartest in the group, figured it out first. 

"It was Dawn. They must be vulnerable to Valyrian steel."

Lyarra nodded, making the same connections in her mind and accepting her paramour's logic. 

She looked at Daemon. "One of the pack horses is carrying Brightroar and Blackfyre, right?"

He nodded. "You want to keep Blackfyre on you until you decide who should wield it and you want Brightroar reforged at the earliest convenience to pay back what the Lannisters did to Ice."

"We can change the handle whenever we have time," Lyarra decided. "Ser Oswell, take Brightroar and Ser Daemon, use Blackfyre. We will need as many men armed with Valyrian steel as possible."

Both men nodded and unpacked the swords from the horses silently. Lyarra would have offered one of them to her intended, Trystane, but he preferred curved blades, like his cousin.

She glanced towards the wildlings, whose hands were bound tightly.

"Cut them loose," she ordered. 

Ash Mongrel jerked his head. "Pardon, my queen?"

"If we get attacked again I want them to at least be able to run or climb a tree. There is no honour in sentencing them to that kind of death."

Ash Mongrel frowned, peering at the people wrapped in furs. He nodded. 

"If you try anything, I will kill you. Slowly," he threatened.

Tormund nodded his head.

"Aye, I expect you would."

Then, the ginger turned his head to Lyarra, giving her a deep nod. "I appreciate this."

Lyarra frowned. "Just don't try to escape, or I'll order you to be locked up again."

Tormund let out a laugh. "There's just as much a chance that I'm bringing you to a Wall that is manned by wildlings. Then, you'll be my prisoners. And I won't forget how you've treated us."

Lyarra stared at him searchingly for a few seconds before shrugging. "Fair enough."

They continued on, and Lyarra's hand did not leave Dark Sister's handle for hours.

\---

Their next problem appeared when they were mere minutes away from Castle Black. A group of riders approached them as they were trekking along the stretch of ice leading up to the castle. 

"Who goes there?" one of them asked aggressively.

As they had discussed, Trystane took a step forward, assuming the guise of leader of their party. 

"I am Prince Trystane of House Martell. Unfortunately our ship landed farther North than we anticipated and we decided to make our way to Castle Black."

The rider jerked his head at Tormund and his friends. "What are you doing with wildlings?"

Trystane shrugged. "They attacked us. We captured them."

"If I may inquire, what is happening here?" Daemon asked easily.

The rider straightened his back. "King Stannis Baratheon has defeated the wildling army and captured the false king, Mance Rayder."

Lyarra was suddenly very happy that they had vigilantly kept applying dye to her hair, and that Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell had already applied charcoal to their faces to distort their features.

He made a gesture with his hand and then the riders were surrounding them. "We will take you to him as he travels to Castle Black."

Trystane glanced around them, pursing her lips. "I suppose you will."

\---

The first thing Lyarra did when she saw her uncle standing in a tense circle with Stannis Baratheon, Mance Rayder and some other old man was throw herself at him like she was a little girl again.

"Uncle Benjen!" she yelled happily as he instinctively caught her. 

"Lyarra?" he asked, surprise and joy mixing together. It took her a second to remember herself and the fact that she was in the presence of a man claiming to be a king. 

She quickly pulled away from her uncle and dropped into a poised curtsey.

"Forgive me, King Stannis. I forgot myself."

Stannis merely nodded his head at her, before turning his attention to the others in her party, all of whom gave stiff bows, or a curtsey, in Sarella's case. 

"What are Dornishmen doing North of the wall and with a band of Unsullied?"

Trystane straightened and recounted the story they had worked out, detailing his time in Essos, how he 'won' the Unsullied in a competition, and the tale of their accidental landing. Tormund frowned at them as he spoke but, thankfully, did not object. 

Stannis gave a nod when was finished, looking highly unimpressed with Trystane's dramatised speech. With a wave of his hand, they entered Castle Black.

\---

Days passed. 

Much happened, though Lyarra wasn't very involved with the events, except as a bystander. She watched as Benjen saved Mance Rayder from his horrible death and she watched as he was declared the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and she watched as he positioned people he obviously despised in places of power for the greater good and she watched as he punished those who didn't listen to him. 

Finally, after almost a week of not speaking to her uncle and instead spending nearly all her time with Shireen Baratheon and Sarella, she could not wait any longer, she had to tell him. However, first, she was going to visit the last living Targaryen male. 

She entered the Maester's quarters in time to hear him proclaim, "A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."

She frowned, thinking of her dragons, of Ghost, of Sarella and of the people supporting her, and agreed with the statement, although silently amending it to include anyone, not just dragons.

She smiled at Sam, who looked at her anxiously. The nervous (and really quite pathetic) child she had met in that inn all those years ago had not completely disappeared, but was now somewhat hidden by a confidence Lyarra knew only killing a White Walker could have instilled in him.

Maester Aemon paused when Sam did not respond to his question. 

"What is it Tarly?"

Lyarra took another step forward. "I would like to talk with you in private, Maester Aemon."

The Maester waved Sam out and Lyarra took his seat.

She took a deep breath. 

"I know this may sound like a lie…" Lyarra started hesitantly. 

"Get on with it girl," Maester Aemon told her firmly. "I can assure you, whatever you tell me, I will believe it. No one has anything to gain from lying to me nowadays."

Lyarra leant forward. "My name is not Lyarra Snow. It is Alysanne Targaryen."

When the Maester did not speak, Lyarra went on, "Lord Eddard Stark took me from the Tower of Joy, where my mother, Lyanna Stark, or Targaryen as she was by then, had birthed me."

The old man was quiet for a few moments more before he lifted his hands. "May I?"�  
Lyarra nodded before she realised he could not see her. "Yes."

The man ran his fingers over her face, mapping out her features. 

"You have Rhaegar's cheekbones, and Rhaella's nose."

He sat back. "Some of the last letters my grand-nephew sent me detailed how he had taken another wife. He did not tell much about her - only that she was a winter beauty. I suspect you, my great grand-niece, are even more stunning than her."

Lyarra smiled, her throat closing up with emotion.

"Thank you, uncle," she whispered. 

"No, thank you, Alysanne," the Maester interrupted. "I have had very few sources of joy in my long life, but I can rest easy knowing I saw at least one of my relatives one last time before I died."

\---

She did not get to talk to Benjen immediately after she had Maester Aemon. Instead, she attended a meeting where he announced that he and Tormund Giantsbane would be travelling to Hardhome to bring the wildings South of the Wall. 

As he was leaving the hall, Lyarra caught his arm, pulling him into an empty alcove. 

"I want to go with you," she told him. 

Uncle Benjen huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "No, Lya."

"I can help you."

Benjen frowned, unconvinced. 

Lyarra took a step away from him. 

"Get Tormund and come with me to the weirwood North of the Wall."

\---

Benjen paced restlessly in the small clearing.

"I don't have time for this, Lyarra."

Lyarra just smirked. 

"Just a few more moments," she assured him. 

Tormund did not complain. He only stood between Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, glancing around nervously.

Soon the flapping of wings filled the air and both Benjen and Tormund tensed. 

From the grey, misty sky, materialised Antarya, who was only able to be seen when she was a mere one hundred metres away from them thanks to her colouring and they overcast, foggy weather. 

Benjen stumbled back as the dragon landed on the ground in front of him, paying him no mind as she locked eyes with Lyarra, chirping cheerfully. 

Tormund, who had frozen in shock for a few seconds, let out a roaring laugh. 

"I knew there was something strange about you - what with all your people calling you queen," he accused. "I didn't buy that horseshit that it was just a fucking joke."

Benjen was swivelling his head between Lyarra and Antarya, eyes wide. 

"What?...How?"

"You are speaking to Queen Alysanne of the House Targaryen, rightful queen of the seven kingdoms," Ser Arthur informed him, stoic as ever.

Benjen was silent for a moment, seemingly needing time to process everything. 

"Your eyes are different than before."

Her eyes had grown even more purple after hatching Antarya, just as the silvery-whiteness had creeped further up her hair.

Lyarra nodded. "They changed when I hatched Antarya…and Visansa."

"You have another one?" he exclaimed. 

"Yes. She's even bigger than Antarya. I couldn't call her because she would have been too obvious."

Benjen gaped at her. 

"So can I help?" she looked at Tormund. "Do you think my dragons will help convince the Free Folk to go South?"

Tormund nodded his head, a feral smile on his face. "Oh yes, they will."

\---

Lyarra rode Visansa to Hardhome, with Antarya flying behind her. Ten of her ships had joined Stannis' fleet, but they were only manned with the barebones crew and she'd left all of her retinue but Ser Arthur (who had travelled with Benjen) at Castle Black, including Ghost.

They needed as much space as possible for the wildlings. 

She landed just in time to see Tormund kill a man wearing a skull mask with his own weapon. She felt the eyes of every wilding go straight to her and her dragons, which dwarfed even giants. 

Tormund glared at his people. 

"Gather the others, and let's talk," he growled, before marching towards the largest building. 

Lyarra did not take much part in the discussions, knowing her 'Southern' opinion would not be welcome. She instead sat on a ledge beside a window, near the leader of the giants, and within eyesight of her children.

She only spoke up when a man claimed that they would use her dragons to burn the ships once they got on them. 

"If I wanted to kill you all, I wouldn't have landed," she told them. "I would have just rained fire down on you from the skies."

All eyes turned to her. 

"The only reason I'm here right now, and not focusing on finding a way to get my home back, is because I would rather have you fighting against the dead instead of for them."

She let Tormund and Benjen take over the conversation again, smilub as Tormund vouched for her and her uncle and scowlung along with them as the Thenn led a group of the leaders out of the cabin defiantly. But, she suspected her dragons had convinced many to stay, when they would have followed him out. 

Visansa helped ferry the giants out to the ships, taking two at a time, whilst Antarya was carrying any wildlings brave enough to be held in her claws. 

She frowned as she helped Karsi, one of the tribe leaders, lift her children into the rowboat.

"We're leaving too many behind," she murmured. 

Karsi glanced back worriedly. "I know."

Suddenly, Visansa and Antarya let out identical screeches. 

An icy cloud rose up in the distance and started to roll towards them. Lyarra put a hand on Dark Sister. However, before she could unsheathe it, something slammed into her back, and then she and Karsi were being lifted off the ground. 

Visansa dumped them on a ship and Lyarra stumbled before spinning around wildly. 

"Take me back!" she screamed. 

Visansa screeched loudly at her and Lyarra did not need a bond with her to know what she thought of that idea. 

"Now, young lady!"

Visansa roared, but lowered her neck for Lyarra to climb on. They took off, Lyarra partially warging into the dragon as they burnt waves of wights. 

Suddenly, a row of white walkers appeared on the cliff behind Hardhome. Lyarra glared at them, readying herself to attack, when one sent an icy spear her way. Panicked, she wrenched Visansa's body to the side with her mind, and the spear grazed her body instead of skewering her in the heart. 

Visansa shrieked in pain as Lyarra steered her away from the Others. A low growl in the back of the throat signalled an indignant question which Lyarra answered by allowing her child to retreat. 

\---

Visansa squawked at her all the way back, as Lyarra kept up a chorus of ,'Yes, I was wrong's and 'I know, you told me so's. 

The wildlings quickly acquiesced when she asked them to not tell anyone about her dragons, still wanting to keep them a secret. 

They left a large portion at Eastwatch, but took most of them to Castle Black, entering along the North side of the Wall. Whilst Benjen retook his position as Lord Commander, Lyarra decided to help the Free Folk settle in the Gift. 

Things were going well until one night, when Eddison Tollet rode into their camp, yelling about betrayal and Benjen being murdered. Before she could even think properly, she was on her horse, pounding up the road for Castle Black, with a band of Wildlings and her people behind her. 

They barged into the castle, the giant obliterating the doors with one hit and stopped in front of the treasonous brothers, most of whom dropped their swords when they saw the overwhelming odds against them. 

Lyarra, however, let her guard down too soon, dropping her sword even though she was at least ten metres away from anyone who was on her side. This gave Alliser Thorne, the only man who had not dropped his weapon, the opportunity to grab her. 

"Back away!" he commanded, blade at her throat. This time, she did not have the luxury of distracting them with her dragons, for they were not ready to have an army marching for them, attempting to kill her babies, besides, they were too far away. 

"You can't win, Thorne," Tormund told him in his rough voice. 

Thorne nodded. "No, but I can take the other bastard responsible for this treason with me!"

He stabbed into her chest, immediately dropping her as he was pinned to the ground by Ghost. She heard Sarella cry out as she ran to her side and blearily registered a faint golden glow before everything faded to black. 

\---

When Lyarra woke up, Benjen was alive again.

Even days after she'd recovered, Sarella refused to leave her side, and Ghost was no better. The Dornish woman was leaning into her shoulder, arm draped over her possessively whilst Daemon and Trystane bickered with some of the crows about the best wine in Westeros. 

"You know I won't disappear if you let me go for a few minutes," Lyarra said, slightly exasperated by her and Ghost's behaviour. 

Sarella buried her nose in Lyarra's neck, her breath tickling her as she responded, "Just let me reassure myself, my love. I'm not quite ready to let you go yet."

Lyarra felt a shiver go down her spine and Sarella lifted her head, meeting Lyarra's gaze with a suggestive raise of her eyebrow. She was about to take up her silent offer to return to their room when a single blow of the horn reverberated through the walls of the dining hall. They walked into the courtyard just as the large wooden gates, that had been repaired since Wun Wun had torn it down, opened.

Lyarra almost couldn't believe her eyes when she saw who was on the other side. One exceedingly tall blonde woman, a dark haired boy and… Sansa.

Lyarra's heart soared as her sister locked eyes with her, dismounting. Benjen came out of a room across the courtyard and Lyarra expected Sansa to go to him first, but her sister rushed towards her, almost running as the red head threw herself into her arms. 

The held onto each other for a long time, tears streaming down their faces. Warmth sparked inside Lyarra and, somehow, things felt just a little bit better.

\---

About an hour of fussing later, Lyarra had been left alone with Sansa in a room, with Ghost curled up by the fire. 

Sansa was eating what was probably her first good meal in days and Lyarra was sipping a hippocras made from a Dornish red mixed with cinnamon and other spices.

"This is good soup," Sansa complimented as she sipped it from her bowl daintily. 

Lyarra huffed. "I'm sure anything will taste good after what you've been through."

Sansa looked down at her lap. "Do you remember those kidney pies Old Nan used to make?"

Lyarra nodded taking a sip if her drink. "Aye, with the peas and onions."

She sighed, clutching her drink in two hands. "You never should have left Winterfell."

Sansa looked off into the fire. "I wish we could go back to the day we left. I want to scream at myself, 'Don't go you idiot.'"

"You couldn't have known."

Sansa glanced at her. "I spent a lot of time thinking about what an ass I was to you. I wish I could change everything."

Something inside Lyarra cracked at that admission, and whatever bitterness she had felt towards Sansa evaporated.

"We were only children," she placated, looking down into her drink before flicking her eyes up to her sister. 

"I was awful, just admit it," Sansa retaliated and Lyarra snorted. 

"You were occasionally awful," she conceded. "But I'm sure I can't have been great fun always sulking in the corner whilst the rest of you played."

"Can you forgive me?" Sansa asked. 

Lyarra shook her head. "There's nothing to forgive."

"Forgive me," Sansa ordered and Lyarra chuckled. 

"Alright. Alright, I forgive you."

Sansa giggled and then glanced at the mug Lyarra had, holding out her hand for it. Lyarra passed it to her and Sansa took a deep swig, but pausing mid gulp at the strong, sour taste.

Lyarra laughed. "Would you believe that is with spices added?"

Sansa narrowed her eyes.

"It's true. A Dornish red is an intense flavour to get used to - most other kingdoms water it down. It's especially hard after drinking sweet pear brandy, which is practically all they have in Tyrosh."

She could see Sansa's eyes furrow, and she was about to inquire into just how Lyarra had become so closely acquainted with the Dornish when Benjen walked into the room, with Ash Mongrel right behind him. Both of them were carrying a chest.

"I forget about this earlier, with everything that's happened," he said as they set their packages down on the table next to Lyarra, Ash Mongrel immediately nodding at her and then marching to the door to assume a watch there.

"Your father sent me this," he informed her, patting a box with a scroll attached it to it. "He said to give this to you if you ever got to the Wall before he could talk to you again."

"And Maester Aemon left this to you after he died," he said, patting the other box, which also had a scroll attached to it. 

Lyarra reached for the scroll her father had sent first, already knowing what it would contain. 

Sure enough, in the letter, her father admitted the truth of her heritage to her, apologising profusely and warmly consoling her in a way that made it impossible for Lyarra to hold any resentment towards him. By the end of the letter, her eyes were watering, but her heart froze as she read the last line. 

'To prove your heritage, I have enclosed the last present Rhaegar sent to my sister, his harp.'

Lyarra dropped the papers, wrenching open the thin chest to reveal a dark red instrument, detailed with a three-headed dragon winding around its frame and silver strings.

Sansa gasped as she saw it. "It's beautiful."

Lyarra nodded silently, not allowing herself to react as she reached for Maester Aemon's letter. 

The note was short, with only a few sentences. 

Thank you, my child, for giving an old man some peace. For all I renounced my heritage, I could not let go of this. 

Every Targaryen receives a dragon egg in their crib. This was mine.

If possible, Lyarra opened this chest even faster, her world immediately narrowing to the object in front of her as she beheld the black egg with cracks of white splattered over it like lightning against a night sky.

Silence descended upon the room as Lyarra picked it up, knowing that she would again be using her dragon glass shard, which Sarella had had fitted with a handle for her seventeenth nameday.

"I don't understand," Sansa said. "Why would he give this to you?"

Lyarra paused, trying to think of a way to tell her. In the end, she decided to hand Sansa the letter from Lord Stark, unable to muster the right words.

Sansa's expression slowly transitioned into a troubled frown as she read the scroll.

Her eyes widened when she finished, glancing to the harp, the egg and finally to Lyarra.

"You do not seem surprised by these revelations," she observed, eyeing Lyarra critically. 

Lyarra shrugged. "That's because I already have two dragons."

Sansa stilled. "Excuse me?"

"It's true," Benjen interjected hurriedly. "I've seen them myself."

Sansa's lip's pulled down, her mind trying to wrap around the idea of dragons. 

"Where will you go?" she asked Benjen and Lyarra, obviously deciding to change to subject instead of addressing it.

Benjen shook his head. "Where will we go. If I don't watch over you two, your father's ghost will come back and murder me."

Lyarra nodded her head. "We are staying together from now on."

Sansa frowned. "But…"

"The fact that I am not Lord Eddard's daughter does not make us any less sisters. Even if it did, we are still cousins."

Sansa drew back at that statement, her frown deepening in guilt for a moment before it cleared into a relieved smile. 

"I can't stay here," Benjen told them. "Not after what happened."

Lyarra looked at him understandingly. She may not have died, but she had come close to it. 

"You gave your life for the watch," she announced. "You are free to leave."

Benjen nodded as he remarked darkly, "And now my watch has ended."

"We have to take back Winterfell," Sansa implored.

"Yes," Lyarra agreed. "But we cannot do it now."

Sansa looked at her sharply. "Why not? Unless your dragons are too small to fight."

Lyarra shook her head. "That is not the issue. We cannot have my girls charge at Winterfell, the Boltons will just hide in the castle. And Ramsay will know that we will not burn our home to the ground. We need to draw them out."

Sansa pressed her lips together thoughtfully.

"If we have an army, Ramsay will meet us on the field, especially if he thinks he can win."

Lyarra frowned. "I have one thousand Unsullied in the Bay of Seals. I can send ravens to Dorne and the Dragon's Fire, but they will not be here for months."

Sansa straightened her back, a crafty glint entering her eye that Lyarra had never seen before. "We still have friends in the North. We could ask them."

Benjen nodded. "It will help secure your place as queen, if you have an audience for your victory. And I'm sure the Free Folk could be convinced to join in, if you promise them a chance at witnessing your dragons destroying an army."

Sansa leaned forward. "In that case, we should call for as many houses as we can. We need people to start telling tales of the Dragon Queen."

"The Dragonwolf," Benjen corrected, obviously having heard the name thrown around by the Dornish and Unsullied. "The Northerners will only follow you if you show them you have just as much ice as you do fire in your veins."

Lyarra grinned. "Well, it's settled then. Let us retake Winterfell."


	10. The Battle for Winterfell

Lyarra invited Sansa to come see her dragons a few nights after they left Castle Black, when they were on their way to the first Northern house they were appealing to. 

She allowed Lady Brienne and Podrick to come with her, as the tall lady had taken to shadowing Sansa wherever she went. Uncle Benjen decided to join them, as well as Ash Mongrel, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell, Lyarra's ever present guards. 

The night concealed the creature's landing, as the moon and many of the stars were blocked out by clouds and the only light for miles came from their camp and the torches the small group was carrying. 

Sansa, Lady Brienne and Podrick all gaped as they beheld the great beasts. 

When they did not move for a full minute, Benjen laughed. 

"Beautiful creatures, aren't they?" he asked. 

"Yes," Lady Brienn breathed, and then she frowned, as if surprised with herself. 

"What are their names?" Sansa asked, eyes still glued to them distractedly.

Lyarra walked up to her children, patting each one on the nose respectively. "This is Antarya, and this is Visansa."

Sansa's head snapped to her. "You named one after me?"

Lyarra smiled and nodded. "Visansa is my well-mannered child. And Antarya is my mischievous one."

Sansa's lips quirked upwards and she looked at the ground to hide her blush.

Visansa made a soft purring noise in the back of her throat and lowered her head to bump it gently against Sansa. Briene gripped her sword tightly, but didn't unsheathe it. The tall woman didn't relax until the dragon had lifted its head away from her charge and Lyarra appreciated her vigilance, however useless it would be against a dragon. 

Sansa stared up at the two immense beasts in front of her, her eyes wide, before she turned to Lyarra with a wicked smile. 

"I don't think we'll have to worry about the Bolton army."

\---

As they'd predicted, not many of the Northern lords were willing to rally to their cause, even with the Unsullied at their back. 

Their last, and by far the most interesting, stop was Bear Island.

Lyarra, Benjen and Sansa walked into the room, with Daemon and Ser Davos at their backs.

"Lady Mormont," Lyarra greeted with a curtsey. 

"Welcome to Bear Island," the little girl in front of them greeted shortly.

Sansa and Lyarra glanced at each other. 

"I remember when you were born, my lady," Sansa said with an inviting smile. "You were named for my aunt Lyanna. They say she was a great beauty. I'm sure you will be too."

"I doubt it," Lady Lyanna snapped back. "My mother wasn't a great beauty. Or any other kind of beauty. She was a great warrior, though. She died fighting for your brother, Robb."

Sansa pursed her lips, at a loss for words. 

Lyarra had to keep a smile from her face at the little bear's fierceness.

Benjen chose that moment to speak. "I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Mormont. He was a great man. I was his first ranger -,"

"I think we've had enough small talk. Why are you here?" Lady Lyanna interjected firmly. 

Lyarra swallowed her laugh. 

Benjen hesitated before continuing, "Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men from Bear Island. It said-"

"I remember what it said," Lady Mormont cut him off. "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark."

They all paused at that. 

Lyarra decided it was time she spoke up.

"Robb is gone, my lady," she told her. "But House Stark is not and it needs your support now more than ever. I've come with my sister and my uncle to ask for House Mormont's allegiance."

Lyanna hesitated, exchanging an almost silent conversation with the maester before turning back to them. 

"As far as I understand, you are a Snow, your Uncle is a Brother of the Night's Watch and Lady Sansa is a Bolton. Or is she a Lannister? I've heard conflicting reports."

Sansa's expression turned stony. "I did what I had to do to survive, my lady. But I am Stark. I will always be a Stark."

"If you say so," Lady Lyanna replied dismissively. "In any case, you don't just want my allegiance, you want my fighting men."

"Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to keep Winterfell, my lady," Benjen implored. "It is our duty to stop him. Even more so because he holds my nephew, Rickon Stark as prisoner. What you have to understand, my lady, is that -"

"I understand that I am responsible for Bear Island and everyone who lives here. So why should I sacrifice one more of my people's life for someone else's war?"

Benjen drew back and Lyarra frowned. 

Ser Davos saved the day when took a step forward, causing Lyanna to turn to her maester again. 

"If it please, my lady. I understand how you feel."

"I don't know you," Lady Mormont told him curtly. 

"Ser Davos, my lady, of House Seaworth."

When Lyanna Mormont leant toward her maester he continued, "You needn't ask your Maester about my house it's rather new."

Lady Mormont turned back to him. "Alright Ser Davos of House Seaworth. How do you know how I feel?"

"You'd never thought you'd find yourself in this situation," Davos told her. "I'd never thought I'd be in this situation either. I was a crabber's son, then I was a smuggler. And now I find myself addressing the lady of a great house. But I'm here, my lady, because this isn't someone else's war. This is our war."

Lady Lyanna leaned back. "Go on, Ser Davos."

Lyarra's eyes widened in surprise as the Onion Knight told the little girl about the wights. About how they would surely come for the world of the living, sooner rather than later. 

Lady Mormont looked at Benjen. ��"Is this true?"

Benjen nodded. "Your uncle fought them at the Fist of the First Men. And Lyarra and I fought them at Hardhome. Their army marches south as we speak."

"As long as the Boltons have Winterfell, the North will be divided," Ser Davos told Lady Lyanna. "And a divided North will lead to the deaths of every man, woman and child in it."

Lyarra took a step forward. "You want to protect your people my lady, I understand. But we have to fight, and we need to do it together."

Lyanna Mormont waved off her maester when he leaned in to talk to her. 

"House Mormont has kept faith with House Stark for a thousand years," she said sollemnly. "we will not break faith today."

Lyarra's heart soared, even as they were informed that they would only be receiving sixty-two men from the Bears.

"We are not a large house, but we are a proud one. And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders."

Ser Davos inclined his head. "If they are half as ferocious as their lady, the Boltons are doomed."

Lady Mormont nodded minutely, her lips curving upwards slightly.

\---

Lyarra went to the meeting with Ramsay with every leader she had. 

Sansa, Benjen and Lyarra rode level with each other at the head of the group. Trystane, Daemon, Ser Davos and Ash Mongrel rode behind them and the few Houses of the North who had joined them had representatives riding behind the leaders of the army. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell brought up the rear, carrying Stark banners.

Lyarra glanced at Sansa. "You don't have to be here, you know."

Sansa raised her chin. "Yes I do."

When Ramsay rode up to them, his eyes fell straight on Sansa. 

"My beloved," he professed with a twisted smile. "I've missed you terribly."

He turned his attention to Benjen. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton. Now, dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army, and proclaim me Warden of the North and the true Lord of Winterfell. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch and I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house."

When no one on their side deigned to even react to his comment, Ramsay turned his attention to Lyarra, who was sitting between Benjen and Sansa. His eye glinted in interest. 

"Come bastard," he implored her condescendingly. "You don't have the armies, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There is no need for a battle."

Privately, Lyarra agreed that there would be no need for a battle, but she did not say anything. 

Ramsay inclined his head. "Get off your horse, and kneel. And if you do, I might not let my whole army have a go at you."

The people around Lyarra shifted at that, and she could tell that many of them were barely supressing their cries of outrage. However, if Ramsay thought he could intimidate her, he was wrong.

She lifted her head. "Your right. There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us."

She leaned forward on her horse. "Let's end this the old way, you and me."

Ramsay eyed her, considering, his gaze taking in the swords hanging at both hips and the long knife that was strapped to her arm.

"I would never fight a lady," he begged off, with a smile. 

"Come now, Snow," she said with a small laugh. "Everyone here knows that's not true."

She leant her head to the side, smiling condescendingly at him. "Or is it fighting a woman on equal terms that you object to? Are you scared that you'll lose."

Ramsay's face contorted in anger. "Why would I fight you and put myself in danger when I know I'll win on the battlefield. I have six thousand men, you have, what? Half that? Not even?"

Lyarra smirked and shrugged. "Aye, you might have the numbers. But will your men want to fight for you, when they hear you wouldn't even fight a woman for them?"

Ramsay stared at her for a long time, hate burning in his eyes. 

He laughed, insanity tinging the edges of the sound. He shook his head, pointing his finger at her.

"She's good," Ramsay admitted. "Very good. But, will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

"How do we know you have him?" Sansa asked. 

Ramsay nodded and Lord Umber withdrew something from his pocket and tossed it harshly to Lyarra.

She only barely caught the object in her hands, and could not stop her eyes from widening when they found the carving of Shaggydog she'd made for Bran all those years ago. Sansa glanced at it, and frowned. 

"It’s his," she murmured to Benjen.

Ramsay smirked at them. "Now, if you want your brother to -"

Sansa cut him off. "You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well."

With that, the red head wheeled her horse around and galloped back towards their camp.

"She's a fine woman, your sister," Ramsay told Lyarra. "I'll look forward to having her back."

His gaze turned to the people around her. "And you're all fine looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven't fed them in seven days. They ravenous! I wonder which parts they'll try first. Your eyes? Your -"

"Thank you for this meeting, Lord Snow. I look forward to defeating you tomorrow."

Ramsay scowled, but cleared his expression quickly. "In the morning then, Bastard."

\---

"If he was smart," Lyarra announced from where she and the rest of the leaders of her army were standing around their makeshift war tent. "He would stay inside the castle. Wait us out."

"That's not his way," Ser Davos stated. "If he doesn't meet us head on, the rest of the North will stop fearing him, and if they stop fearing him, they won't follow him."

Lyarra straightened from where she had been leaning on the table. "Good."

She walked around the diagram. "Everyone get some sleep. We'll need it for tomorrow."

The Northern lords trudged out, only a few glancing at either Benjen or Sansa to see if they would contradict her orders.

Tormund grabbed her arm as she passed him. 

"Did you really think that cunt would fight you?"

Lyarra shook her head and grinned. "No. I just wanted to make him angry."

Tormund laughed, patting her shoulder before he too left. 

Sansa and her were flanked by Trystane and Ser Davos as they left the tent. When they peeled off, Sansa turned her head to her. 

"He secures you sixty-two men and suddenly he's your most trusted advisor?"

Lyarra shrugged. "He brings a view to the table that is different from anyone else's. And he is always completely honest with me."

Sansa seemed to accept her assessment, swivelling her head back to the front. "Lady Brienne doesn't like him."

"Of course she doesn't," Lyarra scoffed. "He fought for Stannis, and Stannis killed her first love."

Sansa scowled.

"What? You cannot say it isn't true."

Her sister shot Lyarra an annoyed look. "The Dornish have made you crass, sister."

"The Dornish have made me honest," Lyarra corrected.

"I fear that we will not have enough people watching tomorrow, with my uncle's forces staying at Riverrun."

Lyarra frowned. "I know we wanted someone from another kingdom, but we will have to make do with just Northern lords."

Sansa's eyes flitted to the ravens being unloaded by Lady Mormont's maester. 

"I could send a message to the Vale. Lord Baelish did offer to help."

Lyarra glanced at her sister. "You would make him think that he is coming to save us, and then have him and his knights be shocked by my reveal?"

Sansa nodded.

"This, of course, has nothing to do with getting him into a position to exact your revenge, does it?"

Sansa supressed a smile. "Of course not."

The sisters shared a grin and Lyarra nodded. "Go. Play your games with the Mockingbird. We can say after that you did not know of Visansa and Antarya."

Sansa inclined her head, and then went off to do as she was bid. 

Lyarra entered her tent to find Sarella wrapped in thick fur blankets in her bed.

"There's my fierce warrior," she said with a salacious smile. "Was everything successful?"

Lyarra was pulled into bed as soon as she took off her weapons. 

"It went as well as we could have hoped," she admitted, nose brushing her lover's as they faced each other.

Sarella beamed at her, kissing her deeply before drawing away. 

"That's what I wanted to hear."

She rolled and pushed herself up so she was straddling Lyarra.

"Let us pray that no one decides to come in," she said, bending down to ravage her queen.

 

\---

Lyarra sat atop of Ghost. 

After much discussion the night before, she and Sansa had decided that it would look good to be so closely linked to the symbol of House Stark.

She frowned as she gazed upon the burning flayed men Ramsay had set in front of his troops. She itched to burn them to the ground, but she couldn't make her move until he had released Rickon. Rage boiled inside her as she thought back to the dirty carving of Shaggydog Ramsay had thrown at her yesterday. Sansa had it in her pocket at this moment and Lyarra wanted to rip the bastard limb from limb for even thinking of touching her baby brother. 

Suddenly, Rickon was running towards her. 

Lyarra's eyebrows furrowed. Ramsay had let him go?

Then she saw an arrow land in the ground, metres away from Rickon, and she realised Ramsay was shooting at him. She pushed Ghost to run forward, nearly slipping completely into his skin in her frantic panic. She was only a few metres away from her baby brother when the arrow tore through him. 

Lyarra threw herself off Ghost and fell to her knees beside him, her heart hammering and her limbs shaking as she jerked Tooth from its scabbard and swiftly cut through the arrowhead, turning her brother over so she could pull out the arrow from his back. 

"Please, please, please," she whispered as she channelled her energy into her hands, opening a large gash on her arm, giving more blood than she usually did when healing. 

She had never prayed to Trios before, as the Temple didn’t require their Guardians to worship him, but now she begged him to let her powers work and save her little brother. 

Slowly, but surely, his gaping wound began to close and the blood began to flow less frequently. When Rickon abruptly took a heaving breath, Lyarra gave a sigh of relief, cupping his face in her hands. 

When she looked up, she saw Ramsay staring at her across the battlefield. A quick peer through Ghost's eyes told her that he was smirking, probably thinking she was grieving for her brother. 

She clenched the fist not holding Rickon's face and thought one thing: 'Burn them.'

Visansa and Antarya burst from the tree line, crossing the empty space between the armies in seconds and lighting up the Bolton forces in controlled, but devastating flames. As they did, Lyarra uncovered her hair, which she had wrapped in a cloth, much like a septa. The night before, Sansa and Sarella had helped her scrub the dye from it, revealing the silvery-white strands beneath.

She raised her chin and allowed a satisfied smile to slip onto her face as Ramsay spun around, terror gripping his features as he saw his armies burst into flames behind him. He didn't have much more time to react as Antarya was picking him and Lord Umber up in her claws and dropping them in front of her Unsullied forces, who swiftly disarmed and subdued them. She made a second trip for Lord Karstark before joining her sister in destroying the Bolton forces. 

When she was done, she nodded to Sarella and Ash Mongrel, who joined her as she rode up to the flames. They helped her out of her armour and took Tooth, Wolf's Bite and Dark Sister from her. Sarella deposited the egg in her arms and without hesitation, Lyarra walked into the warm embrace of the fire. 

The Bolton's bodies burned hotter and faster than the Dothraki's had and, within the hour, Lyarra was emerging from their smouldering ashes, a black dragon with white cracks, like lightning bolts covering its body and deep blue eyes, like sapphires. 

Sarella quickly offered her a simple, yet flattering black cloak and a thick grey fur cloak that Sansa had made for her, with a dragon and a wolf detailed onto each of the two straps that held it up. 

She looked around to found that not much had happened in the time that she had been away. The Knights of the Vale had arrived, but no one had made a move to take the castle, on account that there was flames surrounding the entrance.

However, as soon as it was safe, the Unsullied and the Free Folk ran forward, one of the giants smashing through the gates. From the sounds coming from inside, many of the guards immediately dropped their weapons, surrendering as soon as they found out that their lord had been defeated.

Lyarra walked up to the shocked lords, Ghost at her side and her new child on her shoulder. Visansa and Antarya were sitting in either side of Winterfell, distributing their wait between their tails and their legs.

She came to a stop, back straight, in front of the Northern and Vale armies.

"Winterfell is ours, my lords," she announced. 

No one moved for a few moments before Sansa and Benjen took a step forward, kneeling simultaneously.

"Thank you, my queen," Benjen said, eyes shining with pride as he looked up at her.

Sansa nodded. "House Stark is forever in debt to you."

There were another few beats of silence before her allies also joined them on the ground. Then, slowly, the Northerners also started kneeling. A few of them did not look entirely happy with it, but eventually, they all bent the knee. 

After a few seconds, Lyarra bade them rise and strode over to the three wooden stakes that had been erected in the ground, with Harald Karstark, Smalljon Umber and Ramsay Snow tied to each.

She stands in front of them, with the Smalljon and Ramsay glaring up at her and Harald looking as if he may soil himself. 

"Thank you, Lord Snow, Lord Umber, Lord Karstark. I very much enjoyed defeating you."

Ramsay scowled. "It's Bolton. I was legitimised by the king himself."

Lyarra shrugged. "We do not recognise his rule. And, besides, if the rumours are to be believed, he is a bastard, just like you are and is not a legitimate Baratheon."

Ramsay scowled. "And you're not a bastard?"

At that, Ser Oswell let out a laugh. "Do you think any but a true dragon could command those creatures like she did?"

Sansa stepped forward and looked down on her husband.

"And like any good dragon, she burns her enemies," she said with a dark smile on her face. "And I will relish watching you die screaming."

\---

The hall was noisy as Lyarra sat at the front of the room, Benjen and Trystane to her left and Sansa and Rickon to her right.

It was a few days after the battle, and the Lords of the North had finally assembled.

Lyarra pursed her lips as she listened to the various arguments breaking out around the room. The Vale Knights were objecting to the presence of the wildlings, who were in turn threatening them. Many of the Northern lords were arguing over who should get the Umber and Karstark lands, and a few were even arguing over whether they should follow Lyarra.

A loud screech from Rhaenella, who was sitting on Lyarra's shoulder, quietened the room.

"I will hear your complaints, now, my lords," she said. Then, glancing at Lyanna Mormont, added, "and ladies."

Lord Yohn Royce was the first to speak, standing up with a look of outrage on his face. 

"The Knights of the Vale will not fight with the wildings," he proclaimed. 

This was met by a chorus of ascent by many of the lords around the room. Lyarra frowned. 

"Enough," she said firmly, and every person immediately quietened. "The Free Folk have come South of the Wall to fight the enemy to the North. They are not our enemies. In fact, they were some of the first to support the campaign to retake Winterfell. They are living and they do not want to fight against us, so they are our allies. We need every able-bodied person available, if we are to defeat the dead. This is not a fight for politics. This is a fight for survival."

Lord Royce quietened after that, sitting down with a strange mixture of disgruntlement and contriteness. 

Lord Manderly stood up, stepping forward with a scowl. "And why should we listen to you? We claimed your brother as King in the North, and many of us have said we know no king but the King in the North. You are not a Northern queen, and you must have designs on the Iron Throne. You would not have betrothed some Dornish prick otherwise."

Sansa, Lyarra and Sarella (who was sitting just off the main table) all leaned forward, ready to respond, but they were beaten to it by Lady Lyanna Mormont. 

The girl leader of Bear Island stood tall and proud, despite the fact that she was the shortest person in the room.

"How can you say that our queen is not of the North? It is clear from her appearance that she is just as much wolf as she is dragon. She may have hatched three of the beasts, but she also has a direwolf standing right behind her that is willing to let her ride it into battle."

She glared at the lords around the room accusingly. "House Mormont answered the call to defend Winterfell when no other houses beside House Hornwood and House Mazin did. You claim that she is not Northern enough? Well, then you must be even less Northern than her, for she won the Battle for Winterfell single-handedly."

Lady Lyanna turned to Lyarra then. "I do not care whether her name is Lyarra Snow or Alysanne Targaryen. We wanted a King in the North, but this woman, this White Dragon, is the queen we need."

Lyarra inclined her head to Lady Mormont, who nodded respectfully before retaking her seat.

Lord Glover stood up then, expression pained. 

"House Glover did not join you when you needed, and I will regret that until the day I die. I agree with Lady Mormont. This woman showed more Northern spirit than any of us in here. Whether her throne stays in the North or moves to King's Landing, she deserves our support, and our fealty."

He looked Lyarra in the eye. "A man can only admit when he is wrong and ask for forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord."

He kneeled down. "House Glover pledges loyalty to Queen Alysanne Targaryen and her descendants. We off our services in times of need and our support and council whenever asked. We will not draw arms against the Crown, nor will we fail you in battle. From this day forward, I will serve House Targaryen with my hand, heart and voice. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Lyarra repressed a smile, keeping an expression of cool satisfaction on her face. 

"I accept your oath, Lord Glover. Rise."

The Lord stood up, and with a nod sat back in his place. 

Soon, all of the other lords in the room were pledging their own houses to her service, renewing their faith with House Targaryen, and some of them even addressing Rickon and giving of their vows to House Stark as well.

"What about the traitors?" one man called out once all the lords were finished. 

A small clamour rose up in the room at his question and Lyarra straightened her back, waiting for them to quieten. They soon did, once they noticed her cool stare, many of them casting sheepish glances her way. 

"I will personally execute Smalljon Umber and Harald Karstark on the morrow," she announced, and the Northern lords cheered their approval. 

"As for Ramsay Snow…" Lyarra glanced down at the red head sitting beside her. Ramsay deserved more than a quick death. His crimes, both against her sister and the North as a whole, demanded that he receive a more severe punishment. 

Lyarra pursed her lips and looked back at the lords sitting around the hall. 

"I will allow Lady Sansa to deal with him."

There was a stunned silence before another round of cheers filled the room. Lyarra glanced down at her sister to find her smiling darkly, and nodding gratefully at her. 

"What about their lands? Their castles?" another voice spoke up in the room. 

Lyarra frowned. "I see no reason to remove a family from the home it has been in for hundreds of generations."

An angry rumbled rolled through the hall. 

"We should punish those who've wronged us and reward those who have aided us," Sansa spoke up. "We should take the lands from the Umbers and the Karstarks and give them to Houses who have proved their loyalty."

The chorus of noise, as most assented to that assessment and some discussed it, deafened Lyarra and made it impossible for her to give her judgement. Her frown deepened into an angry snarl. 

Sarella, seeing Lyarra getting steadily more angry, lifted up the book she was carrying and slammed it down on the table she was sitting T, causing a loud bang to reverberate around the room. Lyarra gave a nod and small smile to her lover. 

Her expression turned firm and unyielding as she cast her glare across the room.

"I refuse to punish a child for the crimes of their brother or father," she proclaimed firmly. 

"So there is no punishment for treason and no reward for loyalty?" Sansa snapped. 

Lyarra turned her glare on her. "The punishment for treason is death. Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber will die tomorrow. The soldiers who stood against House Stark have already died."

She looked through the crowd searchingly. "Ned Umber and Alys Karstark, come forward."

A small boy, probably no more than ten years old and a young girl with flaming dark brown hair and a sallow, malnourished face stepped into the centre of the room. 

"For centuries our families fought side by side on the battlefield. I ask you to pledge your loyalty to House Stark and to House Targaryen."

Both children immediately kneeled, with their swords facing downwards.

"Do you swear to keep faith with House Stark and with House Targaryen? To support them, both in peace and in war? To offer your arms in battle and your hearth for shelter?"

The children bowed their heads. "We will serve House Targaryen and House Stark, now and forever."

Lyarra nodded. "Rise."

"Yesterday's wars do not matter," Lyarra told the lords around. "The North needs to band together, all the living North, if we are to survive this war."

A murmur of solemn agreement rang around the hall, before they started sort out details. The rest of the meeting continued on, with Lyarra ordering grain and men to be sent from each House, so that they could prepare for the fight against the Night King. 

When they were finished, Lyarra made to follow Sansa out of the hall to have a firm discussion with her, but she was pulled into an unpopulated alcove by Sarella. 

"Yes?" Lyarra asked impatiently. 

"Don’t," Sarella implored. "You cannot afford to alienate your sister."

"She undermined my authority." 

"She spoke her mind. Do you not want to be the type of queen who’s followers cannot question her?"

Lyarra deflated and shook her head, leaning it into Sarella's shoulder. Sarella took a half step away, taking three pins out of her pocket and presenting them to Lyarra. 

"Now that you are truly a queen, you need to start building your council. I had these made when we were still in Tyrosh."

She handed Lyarra two gleaming silver badges, one that was in the shape of a Hand, and another that was a large circle with a fire inside it, "These will be for your Hand and Small Council - I have more in my room."

Then, she handed Lyarra another circle with a fire inside it, but this one was made of copper. "And these are for your advisors. You should decide on positions as soon as possible."

Lyarra opened her mouth, but Sarella cut her off. "Before you say anything, do not make me your Hand, or a member of your Small Council. I have conflicting interests and will not serve the realm to the best of my abilities."

Lyarra frowned. "At least let me make you an advisor."

Sarella's lips quirked upwards. "That, I can accept. Do you know who will be your hand?"

Lyarra nodded. "Yes, I do."

\---

About half an hour the meeting, Sansa heard a knocking on her door.

She scowled when she saw her sister on the other side, but Lyarra held up her hand before she could begin an argument.

"I thank you for your council, sister, even if it was unappreciated at the time."

Sansa paused, eyes widening. She had been expecting to be yelled at. 

Lyarra glanced down at something in her hands, before looking back up at her. 

"Although, we need to present a united front. I cannot have one of my ladies contradicting me so vocally."

Sansa frowned angrily, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. 

Lyarra went on before she could speak. "However, I can have my Hand advising me against decisions when she does not agree with them."

Sansa stared as Lyarra held out a bright silver, Hand pin at her. 

"Lady Sansa of House Stark, I appoint you Hand of the Queen."

Sansa numbly took the gleaming badge in her hands, staring at her sister for a few seconds before she remembered herself and curtseyed deeply. 

"I accept, my queen," she said formally. 

When she straightened, she beamed at her sister, pouncing on her and wrapping her in a tight hug. 

\---

Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons left her war room, Varys joining her as she strode out. 

"Have you discovered news of the North yet? Who rules it?"

Varys frowned as he hurried along after his queen. "My little birds have given me conflicting reports of how events folded after the Starks' fight against the Boltons - there is even contention over the name of the battle."

Daenerys stopped, turning to her Master of Whispers, eyebrow raised in annoyance. "Well?"

Varys swallowed, struggling to meet her eyes. "Well, my queen, some are calling it the Battle of the Bastards and others are calling it the Battle for Winterfell. Every telling states that the Starks won, however, reports vary on how. Most say that the Bolton army just burst into flames, whilst, some are reporting that magic caused it. Though, other are claiming that it was…"

Daenerys glared at him. "What? What are they saying?"

"Dragons. Some are swearing that two mighty dragons flew over Winterfell and burnt the Bolton army to the ground."

Daenerys pursed her lips, quickly dismissing the rumour from her mind. 

"And of the aftermath?"

Varys sighed. "I'm afraid the tales become even more conflicting after that. Some claim that Rickon Stark has been put on the throne as King in the North, others say that it was Benjen Stark, who has defected from the Night's Watch. There are also accounts stating that Sansa Stark had become Queen in the North and even some that claim the bastard daughter of Eddard Stark, Lyarra Snow had been crowned."

Daenerys nodded, glancing downwards as she processed the information. 

"There is one other, very troubling rumour, my queen."

Daenerys glanced up. 

"There have been stories saying that a Targaryen has been crowned Queen by the Northerners. That she has the strongest claim to the Iron Throne."

Daenerys froze. She thought for a few moments, then straightened her back. 

"That tale is about as likely as the dragons spontaneously appearing in the North. Send a raven addressed to the Warden of the North and demand that they come and bend the knee to me. The we shall see who the true leader is."

Varys bowed deeply, still looking troubled. "Yes, my queen."


	11. A Dance of Dragons?

"To the Leader of the North 

Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, invites you to Dragonstone. My queen commands the combined forces of the Reach, an Ironborn fleet, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons. The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny. 

Lyarra Snow, please ensure that your leader adheres to this. We need to unite the kingdoms. I appeal to you, one bastard to another — for all dwarves are bastards in their fathers' eyes.  
Tyrion Lannister Hand of the Queen."

Lyarra looked up after dictating the letter to her Small Council and advisors. Sansa sat directly across from her, frowning deeply. She'd appointed Benjen as Master of Laws and Ser Arthur as her Lord Commander of the King's Guard, Captain Tarlor had respectfully asked not to be appointed Master of Ships as he said he was only versed in trading vessels, not naval battles, so Lord Manderly had been given the posytion, but she currently did not have anyone else in other permanent positions. She was planning to position Oberyn as Master of Coin and Ser Gerold and Black Toad as her Masters of War. She honestly had no idea who she would appoint as Master of Whispers, as no one she knew had a network of spies, or at least would admit to it (other than Baelish, and she wasn't going to trust him as far as she could throw him), nor did she know who to have as Grand Maester, though she had the previous Bolton Maester, Maester Wolken sitting in on the council. 

She'd also given advisor pins to Sarella, Ser Davos, Trystane, Tormund and Lyanna Mormont, whilst Daemon, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and Ash Mongrel stood around the room as her Queensguard. 

Every person in the room held grim expressions. 

"Damn," Benjen cursed. "She's got Dragonstone."

Lyarra dropped the paper on the table. "We have to go."

"No you don't," Sansa almost immediately replied. 

"She is currently sitting on the only confirmed cache of dragon glass in the Seven Kingdoms. She also has three dragons and an army larger than our own. We cannot make an enemy."

"Aye," Tormund agreed gruffly. "Even if the woman didn't attack us, we still do not have enough to fight the undead army, and that is including our queen's dragons."

Sansa sighed, reaching out, and Davos handed her the note. Lyarra frowned at the Onion Knight, who had not spoken a word for the entire meeting. She had been forced to banish Melisandre the day before after finding out that she had advocated for Princess Shireen to be burned alive. 

In truth, Lyarra had wanted to do much more than that, as she had grown fond of the girl in the few days that she'd known her, but she could not kill the priestess after all she'd done for her family.

"Do you think it's him?" Sansa asked, drawing Lyarra out of her thoughts.

Lyarr nodded. "The last line, where he directly addresses me, is a reference to a conversation we had on the first night we went to Winterfell."

Sansa glanced back down. "Do you trust him?"

Lyarra looked up at her. "Do you trust him? You know him best."

Sansa swallowed. "Tyrion was always good with me. He protected me from Joffrey and he was gentle. He's definitely the best of the lions."

"The letter does not demand us to bend the knee to her," Trystane observed. "She cannot kill us if we do not comply."

"Yes, but the casual mention of her army, fleet and dragons heavily implies what she thinks," Davos replied with a grunt. 

"We can't not go," Ser Arthur summarised. "But going would be very dangerous."

"Perhaps we could send someone else in your stead?" Maester Wolken suggested. 

Lyarra shook her head. "She will demand submission from anyone else, and would not believe that I exist if I don't come directly to her."

"Well," Lady Mormont added, eyeing Rhaenella, who was sitting on Lyarra's shoulder. "At least there is no doubt that you are a Targaryen, through and through."

"Yes," Sansa relented resignedly. "If you are to go, you must show her that you are the perfect mix of Ice and Fire, a queen that is equal parts dragon and wolf. She must respect you."

Lyarra shared a meaningful stare with her Hand. 

"So it is decided then?" she asked, standing up. 

Benjen nodded grimly, as he, too, rose. "Hopefully the Queen of Mereen is not a Kinslayer."

\---

Daenerys waited impatiently on her throne at Dragonstone.

Ships bearing the Stark banner had been spotted approaching the island and she was anxious to put to rest her concerns about this other dragon.

But that did not happen.

All her fears were confirmed when the door opened.

A small retinue of people entered the throne room, including a Dornish woman, one man with a greying beard, a Northerner, three knights, and an Unsullied. In the centre, a woman, about the same age as Daenerys, outfitted in a light grey dress with strips of red crossing over her chest and around her waist and snow white fur bordering her sleeves and hemline. She wore black breaches underneath her dress, which only dropped slightly below her knee. The girl's hair was striking, with her roots a deep black, turning to a gradient of grey about a third down, which transitioned smoothly into white curls, with some of it braided back in a complicated design on the back of her head and the rest flowing freely to just above her waist. On her breast, was pinned a copper triquetra badge.

Most earth-shattering of all were the great, white direwolf that walked beside her and the black and white dragon that sat on her shoulder. 

Daenerys stared down into the girl's eyes, which were a dark violet ringed with stormy grey, too shocked to speak.

Thank the gods for Missandei, whose voice rang out around the room as soon as the group came to a stop. 

"You are in the company of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons."

The Dornish woman smirked. "Well this is awkward."

Her expression quickly smoothened when the strange woman turned her head to glare at her. 

The brown-skinned woman cleared her throat. "This is Queen Alysanne Dragonwolf of the House Targaryen, the Second of Her Name, the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, High Guardian of Trios and the White Dragon."

Silence fell upon the room.

After a few moments, the girl gave a curtsey. "Aunt Daenerys."

"How?" Daenerys asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she gaped openly at the girl in front of her.

The woman straightened and began to weave the tale of her husband's second wife; the match that had torn the kingdoms apart. When she was done, Daenerys stared at the woman in front of her - her niece. 

"That would make you…"

"The rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, your grace," the old man with the greying beard finished for her. 

Daenerys didn't know what to say. She felt her entire world shattering around her. The one thing that she had clung to all these years, the foundation on which she'd belt her very identity on was false. 

"This isn't important," the woman, the queen in front of her said, stepping forward. 

Daenerys wanted to scream at her. How dare she? 

This girl had just torn the ground out from beneath her feet, and she was saying it didn't matter? 

"We cannot concern ourselves with the trifles of politics," Alysanne - Queen Alysanne - proclaimed. "There is another enemy we must focus on: the enemy to the North. I have seen the army of the dead. It marches towards the Wall as we speak. It grows every day and will kill us all if we don't band together."

Daenerys was near catatonic with all of the earth-shattering information that had just been dropped on her. 

"Excuse me?" she asked. 

The man with the dark hair and grey eyes - who must have been Benjen Stark - stepped forward. "The Others are real, your grace. And they are coming for us. For all of us."

Daenerys stared at him, contemplating for a few more seconds before she finally found her voice. 

"I'm sure you are all very tired from your journey," she breathed. "Please allow Jakahbo to show you to your quarters. I will have meals sent to your rooms. We can meet tomorrow."

Jakahbo stepped forward to usher them out of the room, but the Dornish woman did not move, holding her head high and meeting Daenerys' gaze with a cold resolve that she'd rarely witnessed before. 

"Are we your prisoners, your grace?"

Daenerys hesitated, before quickly shaking her head. "No, of course not."

The woman gave a firm nod, before turning and leaving. 

\---

The doors closed behind Lyarra Snow's retinue. Except it wasn't Lyarra Snow's retinue, was it? It was Queen Alysanne Targaryen's.

Tyrion sagged as the bang echoed through the dark room. He and Varys glanced at each other before looking nervously up at their queen. If she was truly still their queen. 

"What just happened?" Daenerys whispered from her place on the throne. 

Tyrion turned his gaze back to his best friend, seeing him gaping in surprise, an expression he could not ever recall really seeing on the Spider's face before. 

"It seems the honourable Ned Stark fooled the entire Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion observed. 

He laughed shaking his head as he looked down. "I didn't think the man had it in him."

"Nor did I," Varys contributed numbly, his face still a mask of horrified shock. "It was the best kept secret in Westeros."

Tyrion laughed harder. "All us Southern fools scorned the Dour Wolf for not playing the game, but, in the end, he's played it better than anyone else."

Daenerys drew herself up in her straight, her spine as rigid as steel as she cast an imperious gaze at Tyrion. "Do you believe her? About the Others?"

Tyrion sobered, clamping down firmly on his hysterics, and thought for a few seconds.

"Yes, I do," he finally decided. "I know Lyarra Snow - or the woman who used to be her - and neither she, not her uncle are ones to lie, at least not about something like this."

Daenerys nodded, looking into her lap.

"What should I do?"

That was the question. Technically, Daenerys should bend the knee to Alysanne, as she her claim to the throne rested on the fact there were no other Targaryens more eligible to take it, and the presence of her niece illegitimated that fact. However, if she so wished, she could win the crown by right of conquest. 

Varys, obviously having the same thoughts as Tyrion pressed his lips into a thin line. 

"That, my queen, is a decision only you can make."

The Mother of Dragons frowned and waved them away, dismissing her two advisors.

Tyrion bowed to his queen, his gut churning. He had his own decision to make.

\---

The Northern-Dornish-Targaryen party did not get their audience with the queen the next day. A few seconds after Alysanne Targaryen asked her aunt for permission to begin mining the dragonglass in the island, Daenerys received some grave news. 

Missandei of Narth stood beside them as they watched her queen take flight on Drogon, flying away to burn the Lannister army to the ground as they herded the spoils they received from the sacking of the Reach and the murdering of the Tyrells back to King's Landing. 

Queen Daenerys was as Missandei had seen her only a handful of times before. Her entire being felt as if it was carved out of pure rage, as she went to rain her fury down on those who had wronged her. She was the embodiment of her houses words, giving her enemies fire and blood aplenty. 

Rhaegal and Viserion swooped low over them, but none of the party flinched like Missandei expected them to. She supposed Varys had told Daenerys that Alysanne Targaryen had supposedly already hatched other dragons. But the one on her shoulder was so small… surely the others couldn't be as terrifyingly large as her queen's.

As soon as Queen Daenerys disappeared into the distance, the man with the greying beard - Ser Davos, he'd introduced himself as - walked away, his head hanging low. Alysanne glanced after him, stopping the rest of her party from following him, instead going herself and only allowing her wolf and the tall knight - the one with the purple eyes that would have been enchanting when viewed alone but were dull when compared to either of the Targaryen's - to trail after them. 

She glanced to her side, where Ash Worm was watching his queen retreat anxiously.

"If I may, why do you continue to serve Alysanne Targaryen? My queen has freed the Unsullied, you do not need to follow your master anymore."

The Unsullied glanced at her, frowning. "She is not my master. She is my queen. Queen Alysanne released us after our old master gifted us to her in thanks for killing a Dothraki horde that was surrounding his castle. The next morning, she melted our whip with her great dragon, Visansa, and told us we could either leave or join her, even offering to help us become established at some sellsword companies in the area."

Missandei blinked, shocked. For some reason, it had not occurred to her that Alysanne Targaryen had acquired her Unsullied in a similar way to her own queen. 

"My queen freed me and the rest of the Unsullied from the slave masters. She freed all of us."

The stocky knight - Ser Oswell - gave a sharp bark of laughter. "You will not convince any of us to support your queen, girl, even if she has done more across the lands. Besides, our one has a stronger claim to the throne."

Missandei levelled him with an unimpressed stare. "I serve my queen because I want to serve my queen. I believe in her. All of us who came from Essos, we believe in her. She is not our queen because she is the daughter of some king we never knew. She is the queen we chose."

Benjen Stark, the Dornish knight - Ser Daemon -, Ser Oswell and the woman who had spoken so boldly to her queen yesterday - Sarella Sand - all glanced at each other nervously. 

The reply came from the person she least expected it to. 

Ash Mongrel turned a critical I on her as he spoke, "That may be true. But we are loyal to Queen Alysanne. Queen Daenerys may have saved you, but that does not negate the fact that she is a conqueror. Our queen is a protector. She does what is best for her people, and won't focus her attentions on other nations."

Missandei took a few moments to reply. "Queen Daenerys wants to free every person from slavery."

Ser Daemon nodded at that. "Then I wish her good fortune, for that is a noble pursuit, but Westeros does not have slavery. It does not need a ruler to save it from a tyrant and then leave to focus on other places, it needs someone who will be dedicated to it."

Missandei frowned.

"That is true. Being the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms is not an easy job. It demands a person's full attention," Lady Sarella contributed with a nod. "And after the years of horror the Seven Kingdoms have been put through because of its leaders, the country needs someone who will sit on the throne and help fix the country, not someone who will swoop in and then fly off across the seas."

Missandei took half a step back, and quickly dismissed herself from the group. She shook her head as she walked away. She couldn't let them sow doubt into her mind, even if what they said was so convincing.

\---

Yara Greyjoy stood tall as her fleet, as well as most of the Tyrell army, returned to Dragonstone once again.

However, she did not find Queen Daenerys waiting to greet her. 

Instead a woman with black, grey and white hair was standing on the shore, surrounded by a small retinue of people. The girl had a crown with metal spikes spaced evenly around it and a snarling wolf with red encrusted eyes and a large grey jewel clamped beneath its jaws resting in the centre of her forehead.

Yara would have thought her a goddess, if she was inclined to believe in them.

Her purple eyes watched them, a look of solemn indifference on her face as they walked up to her.

"Lady Greyjoy… or should I say Queen Yara," she greeted with a nod.

Yara's lips twitched downwards, before her expression settled into a flirty smile. 

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," she replied. "You know my name, but I do not know yours."

Before the enchanting woman could reply Theon stiffened beside her. 

"Lyarra?" he burst out, stunned. 

The girl's head turned to him, expression cooling even more than before. 

"Theon," she acknowledged curtly. 

"What? How?" he stuttered out.

"You are speaking to Queen Alysanne Targaryen, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men," one man in white and purple armour bit out.

Theon was speechless and the woman, (was it Lyarra Snow or Queen Alysanne?) glared at him, taking half a step forward. 

"If Sansa had not told me all you'd done for her, and that you didn't really kill Bran and Rickon, I would cut you down right here - damn the consequences."

Everyone on the bay stiffened at her words, but the woman did not advance further. Instead, she sucked in a shaky breath, visibly forcing her shoulders to relax before she one again faced Yara with a stiff smile. 

"Instead, your grace, I ask leave to punch your brother in the face?"

Yara glanced sideways at Theon, who was staring at the ground in shame, but gave a minute nod as he felt his sister's eyes on him. 

She pursed her lips, not liking the insult that would be done to her family, but knowing that she should accept it. 

She shrugged. "You could be demanding his head, so I will allow it. Just don't do any permanent damage."

The woman nodded, before bringing her fist back and connecting it with his cheek. 

Surprisingly, Theon was knocked to the ground by the force of the blow. He lay there dazed for a few seconds before slowly pulling himself back to his feet, rubbing his cheek. 

Yara opened her mouth to compliment her technique but was interrupted by a small screech from down the beach. 

A blur of black streaked out from behind a rock, before latching onto the dark blue skirt, bordered with black fur that the woman was wearing, climbing up it and over the black leather corset with red dragons detailed on it that she was wearing over her bodice. 

Yara blinked as a small dragon came to rest on the Targaryen's shoulder. 

Following the hatchling at a more sedate pace was a snow white direwolf that was almost as large as a horse. 

"I thought I told you to watch her?" Queen Alysanne asked the great beast, tapping her foot. 

The creature lowered his head, as if sheepish. 

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "We'll see if I let you babysit again."

The wolf gave a huff, before plodding over to sit by his mistress's side, though positioning himself so his back was facing her. 

In response, the woman rolled her eyes, moving the small dragon from her shoulder to her hands. 

"I'm sorry," she apologised with a small smile. "This is my youngest, Rhaenella, she doesn't like being away from me."

At this, the dragon gave a light chirp, nuzzling her arm. 

"I'm confused," Yara said, eyebrows furrowed. "Aren't you supposed to be the Bastard of Winterfell?"

A few in the woman's party shifted angrily at that but she herself just shrugged wryly. 

"Lord Stark is not my father," she explained. "He took me from the Tower of Joy, where my mother, Lyanna Stark birthed me."

Yara pursed her lips. "So that would make you a Sand, not a Snow."

At this, the knight who had spoken before spoke up, "She is neither. I personally witnessed Rhaegar Targaryen wed Lyanna Stark before a Heart Tree."

Yara nodded. "Which would make you the person with the strongest claim to the Iron Throne."

The Dornish woman flanking Queen Alysanne's right nodded with a satisfied smile. 

Yara frowned. "Will Queen Daenerys kneel to you?"

Some in the party glanced around uncomfortably at that, but Queen Alysanne only pressed her lips into a thin line. 

"We shall see."

\---

Tyrion sighed as he landed on Dragonstone. Daenerys had been circling his ship on Drogon the entire journey back.

His gut twisted uncomfortably. He was unsure if his queen (was she still his queen?) had made the right decision in killing Randyll and Dickon Tarly. He knew why she made the decision, but he also knew what type of leaders she would seem like to the lords of Westeros. 

Drogon landed heavily on the grass just as Tyrion stopped in front of Queen Alysanne's retinue. The dragon gave a low whine of pain as Daenerys dismounted. 

Alysanne frowned at the great creature. "Is he hurt?"

Daenerys didn't answer, instead focusing on her injured child, petting his head, so Tyrion spoke for her. "The Lannisters have made a weapon than can shoot arrows as large as spears far into the air, so hard it can pierce dragon scale."

Alysanne's frown deepened as Drogon gave out a mournful moan. 

"I can heal him if you wish?" the black and white-haired woman asked.

Daenerys glanced at her niece, staring at her for a few moments before giving a sharp nod. Before the young queen could step forward though, her Dornish companion - Sarella Sand - grabbed her arm. 

"My queen, is this wise?" Ser Arthur asked. 

The queen glanced at her Queensguard and then looked deeply into the eyes of the woman still holding her arm. 

"Don't you trust me, my Sand Snake?" she asked, with a small, easy-going smile.

Lady Sarella pursed her lips in response, holding eye contact for what felt like a minute before finally releasing it. 

"Be careful, my Dragonwolf. Don't die for something stupid - you promised me you woul try your hardest to not have me lose you."

The queen shrugged. "You won't."

She turned to the dragon , raising her hands in front of her and approaching slowly. 

"You won't hurt me, Drogon, now will you? I just want to help you."

Amazingly, the usual temperamental dragon only gave a huff, following her with his eyes, but keeping his head beneath his mother's hands. 

Queen Alysanne approached the dragon's shoulder, humming a cheerful yet captivating tune as she made a small slit on her forearm before hovering her hand over the gaping wound. Tyrion could have sworn he saw her hands glow with a faint golden light before slowly, the muscle began to knit back together. 

After some minutes, the scales started grow back over the now disappeared injury and the woman took a step back. As she started walking away, Drogon wrenched his head from Daenery's grip. 

Tyrion held his breath as he felt everyone around him tense. 

Thankfully, however, Drogon only bumped his nose against the woman lightly, giving a light chirping sound in the back of his throat that Tyrion had never heard him make before, before returning his head to his mother's hands. 

Everyone let out a sigh of relief whilst Queen Alysanne just smiled. "That's right, cousin, we have to stick together."

Tyrion peered at his queen, seeing her purse her lips as she watched her niece retreat into the embrace of Lady Sarella. Daenerys met his eyes, pressing her mouth into a thin line. 

Tyrion suspected her decision just got a lot more difficult.

\---

He found Queen Alysanne and Lady Sarella standing together on one of the hills, Ghost lying down at their feet in front of them and Rhaenella curled up on top of him. 

The queen was leaning her head on the taller woman's shoulder and they were holding hands whilst the Queensguard, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, Ser Daemon and Ash Mongrel stood vigilantly at various distances around them. He didn't know whether to be relieved or offended that they didn't deem him enough of a threat to stop him from walking up to their queen. 

"I came out here to brood, but I fear it will ruin the tranquil mood you have established here."

Queen Alysanne lifted her head looking down at him with a small smile. 

"I'm sure we can share."

Lady Sarella glanced down at him, a teasing smirk on her face. "Does it bother you that your queen does not ask for your council?"

Tyrion shrugged. Queen Daenerys had just allowed her niece's party to begin mining the dragon glass mountain beneath the castle when they had gotten news of a man claiming to be Ser Jorah having arrived on the shore. The queen was immediately distracted and ordered a private audience with Ser Jorah, Grey Worm (who had also returned) and Missandei. 

"Queen Daenerys has known and trusted those three advisors for much longer than I, it would only be natural that she calls on them to discuss one of the most important decisions she has made in the last ten years. Besides, I'm sure she already knows what my advice will be."

"And what is that?" the Dornish woman asked, eyeing him curiously. 

Tyrion tilted his head. "I would advise my queen to not overextend herself, and remind her that she already has the beginnings of a kingdom, or rather, queendom over the Narrow Sea."

Lady Sarella looked satisfied at this, a triumphant gleam sparkling in her eyes. Queen Alysanne, however, pursed her lips, looking troubled.

"And how is my darling wife faring?" he inquired, deciding to change the subject. 

Queen Alysanne frowned down at him and Tyrion put his hands up placatingly, immediately realising how his words could have been interpreted.

"The marriage was unconsummated, I swear. I just wanted to ask after your health."

Queen Alysanne nodded approvingly. "Sansa did say that."

"She's smarter than she lets on," Tyrion told her.

The queen smirked, glancing at him. "I know, she's starting to let on. Which is why I've appointed her as my Hand." 

Tyrion blinked, unable to keep himself from gaping and the two women in front of him shared a laugh. 

"It seems Lady Sansa has done very well for herself," Tyrion managed to get out and Queen Alysanne nodded.

"That she has," the queen assured him. "My men have already begun mining the dragon glass. Would you like to join us in inspecting them?"

Tyrion only had to think for a second before he was nodding. "I think I would like that very much."

\---

Gendry's stomach twisted uncomfortably as they walked up the beaches of Dragonstone. 

Ser Davos intended to integrate him into the Northern Men and Unsullied who were mining the dragon class under the castle, apparently so they could make weapons to fight the Others of all things. Gendry found it difficult to believe that such horrors existed; he didn't want to bear the thought of it. However, the look of absolute conviction in Ser Davos' eyes as he told him of the Night King was hard to refute. And, he didn't think that Ser Davos was a liar. 

They walked into the mouth of an intimidating black tunnel, only to be met with a violet-eyed woman with a sword strapped to either hip, who Gendry assumed to be Queen Alysanne. Standing with her was a dwarf who must have been Tyrion Lannister and a Dornish woman that Gendry guessed was Sarella Sand from Ser Davos' description of her. 

"Your Grace," Ser Davos greeted, voice tinged with surprise. 

The black and white haired woman turned to the knight, smiling when she saw him. "Ser Davos, back from your trip, I see. I'm glad you have arrived safely."

Her gaze turned to Gendry. "Who is this?"

Gendry was about to answer when his gaze caught at something at the queen's hip that distracted him.

Ser Davos hesitated. "This is Jon Stanner. He is a -"

"I know that sword," Gendry cut him off, then blushed when he realised he had spoken out loud. "I'm sorry, your grace."

The queen withdrew her blade that had a snarling, red-eyed wolf's head as its pommel. She glanced between it and Gendry, recognition sparking in her eyes. 

"That's because you made it for me."

Gendry furrowed his eyebrows, squinting at the woman in front of him as his memory supplied him with a similar looking girl who had black hair and grey eyes.

"Lady Snow?" he asked tentatively, afraid of causing offence. It didn't make sense. Ser Davos had told him that the queen was the trueborn daughter of Lyannna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.

The woman smiled at him indulgently. "Not anymore. It turns out I'm not Lord Eddard's bastard. My uncle lied to everyone to keep me safe."

Gendry gaped at the woman. 

After a few seconds of silence, Tyrion Lannister let out a laugh. 

"I imagine I had a similar expression when I discovered the truth."

At that, both Lady Sarella and Queen Alysanne let out small laughs. 

"So, what are you doing here, Gendry?" the queen asked. 

Gendry paused, the lie Ser Davos had drilled into him on the tip of his tongue. However, his mind flashed to the brief interaction he had shared with the girl who had once been called Lyarra Snow and he changed his mind. 

"I'm Robert Baratheon's bastard."

Gendry felt Ser Davos tense beside him as both Lady Sarella and Tyrion Lannister froze. In fact, the queen seemed the most unfazed. 

"I'm glad that you found out who your father is. Not knowing who a parent is can be hard," she told him sincerely. 

Ser Davos jerked. "You're not upset at his heritage?"

Lyarra frowned. "I do not believe in blaming a child for their father's mistakes."

Gendry felt his shoulders sag in relief, releasing a tension he didn't even know he had been holding. 

"Although, I would like to hear how you came to know Ser Davos."

Gendry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "It's a long tale. It actually includes your sister."

Queen Alysanne stiffened when he said that. 

"You… You know Arya?" she choked out, voice quaking. 

"I-I'm so sorry," Gendry rushed. 

The queen shook her head, looking down as she blinked rapidly. "It's alright."

She met his eyes again, a sad smile gracing her features. "I hope you can tell me about it?"

Gendry nodded quickly. "Of course, your grace."

Queen Alysanne looked as if she would speak again, but was interrupted as one of Daenerys Targaryen's Unsullied walked up to them. 

"Queen Daenerys would like to summon you. She has come to her decision."

\---

Daenerys watched as Missandei and Grey Worm both finished their pieces. She had asked her advisors what they thought and they had both detailed what they had heard of her niece from her people and what they had judged of her from their own experiences. 

Both Missandei and Grey Worm had told her of how her people had described Alysanne as caring, yet firm and just, yet merciful. The only bad things someone had had to say came from Ser Daemon, who had apparently said that it was annoying when she got solemn and Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur, who both conceded that she had much still to learn.

Once they were finished, Daenerys turned to Ser Jorah. 

"And what about you? You have known me the longest. What do you think I should do about my niece?"

Ser Jorah stared at her helplessly. "Khaleesi, I have only just met her. It would be impossible for me to give you an accurate judgement of her."

Daenerys raised her eyebrow. "Then tell me your first impressions."

Ser Jorah hesitated. "To be honest Khaleesi, I only thought one thing when I laid my eyes on the girl with her direwolf and dragon: that she is a song of ice and fire."

Daenerys went rigid as her mind was immediately cast back to the vision of her brother that she'd seen in the House of the Undying. 

She pursed her lips leaning back in her throne, before she cast her gaze over to the guard by the door. 

"Summon my niece and her retinue. I have come to a decision."

Not half an hour later, Alysanne's entire ensemble was standing before her, with her niece in the front. 

"I have decided to succeed the throne to my niece, Queen Alysanne," she stated imperiously. "She has the stronger claim to the Iron Throne, and, from what I have seen, will be a kind and just ruler."

Queen Alysanne curtseyed, bowing her head. 

"Thank you, your grace."

Daenerys allowed her lips to pull up at the edges minutely. 

"As my advisors have reminded me, I do still have multiple cities in the Bay of Dragons that I rule over, and I intend to extend my reign to any other society that refuses to abolish slavery."

Queen Alysanne's eyes widened. 

"No!" she exclaimed. "We need your army. We need your dragons. We do not have enough resources to fight off the dead on our own."

"You can work to free all slaves," Benjen Stark contributed. "But breaking their chains will not stop them from being slain at the hands of the Night King."

Daenerys sat back, frowning. Seeing her doubt, Queen Alysanne stepped forward. 

"You do not believe us, I know, but let us prove it to you. I'll send a party North of the Wall to retrieve one wight and bring it back to show you."

Benjen Stark stepped forward. "I volunteer to lead the group. I was First Ranger of the Night's Watch - I know the North better than anyone here."

Quickly, a few more people volunteered, including Ser Jorah. Daenerys' first instinct was to deny him, but he knelt in front of her. 

"Please, Khaleesi, I have not been able to serve you these past moons, let me do this for you."

Daenerys hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Come back to me, Ser Jorah."

At the same time, Lady Sarella latched onto Queen Alysanne's arm. 

"No," the Dornish woman commanded feircly. "You went to Hardhome and nearly died. I will not allow you to go now when we actually intend to find the Others."

The queen pursed her lips, but jerked her head in acquiescence. 

The black and white haired girl drew herself up. "So be it. You all shall find a wight and prove to us that the threat is real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know Daenerys might be a little OOC! But, I wanted to make her an actual rational human being.


End file.
